Book 7: The Dementors
by Veronice
Summary: To Harry, the Dementors were something unbelievably awful, something to be hated and feared. To the Dementors, Harry was something different - the 'Special One.'
1. Chapter 1

BOOK SEVEN. The Dementors.

Terms related to the use of humans by Dementors.

_braciage_: The physical and mental defences which protect the lake of the spirit from interference. It is unknown what function it performs aside from the temporary slowing down of a Dementor when it first feeds from a morkon.

_morkon:_ The victim from which a Dementor feeds.

_seriators:_ The Dementor's specially modified jaw appendages. Rubbery, narrow, very strong, used to force apart clenched teeth and to bend back around them, using any irregularities to help hold the victim very firm, and clamped into place. This makes the morkon more convenient to feed from, and it protects the ricora from injury.

_ricora_: The tongue of the Dementor.

_Notes:__ My books diverge from the originals after Book 5. _

_History__: Harry has some brain damage, firstly from his fight with Voldemort, and more recently from a head injury and resultant illness. This brain damage is the cause of his minor handicaps. __Harry's adult children__: Victoria, Margaret, James and Beth. Adam Bourne is his stepson. __Harry's staff__ includes Bill Forester, manager, Margaret Brown, secretary, Chris & Chrissy Barnes, their sons, Simon & Beau. Kevin, Melissa & Jason Wiley, 3 daughters. Milly, Tracy & Klaus, cooks. Jimmy Carr, Horse Manager. Other characters mentioned, Cissy Diefenberger, a young relative, who can also break spells. _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 1:_

Jimmy Carr was busy. Five children from the estate were competing at the big Easter horse show, and they'd brought several horses. Jimmy was seventy-five, but still perfectly fit and active.

He had a helper, an apparently much younger man, wearing faded jeans and a casual shirt, who was helping sort out horses to riders, and ensuring each rider had his allotted horse ready to go. Sitting on the edge of one of the horseboxes, and watching solemnly was a small boy. He had a mop of black hair, bright green eyes, and wore glasses like his father. Adrian Potter was five, but looked younger.

Harry and Jimmy were at this moment giving a final touch up to two very similar ponies, of 14 hands. Each of them had piebald markings of a deep grey and white, and one had an odd slash of black across his face. Bluebird and Clown bore themselves with pride, had long, flowing manes, and, in spite of their size, there was not really much of the pony in their looks. They were entered in a show class, pairs, and were to be ridden by the two oldest girls of Melissa and Jason Wiley. The Wileys were employed as security guards at the home of Harry Potter, world famous as the great wizard, and currently Jimmy's helper.

As soon as the girls were ready, both Jimmy and Harry hurried to ringside to watch Chris's boys compete in the show jumping. Adrian rode on the shoulders of Jimmy, as his own father was less sure-footed. Beau and Simon were sixteen and seventeen. They had very good horses to ride, a glossy black gelding called Kelly, and a young brown mare, Tamara, rather haphazardly bred by Harry, who nevertheless tended to find himself with some very beautiful horses.

In other show classes, the Wiley's youngest daughter had a black pony to ride, half Andalusian like the piebalds. And there was a pinto gelding that was magnificent in novelty events, his brains now put to the test in this fashion, rather than in finding ways to mate forbidden mares.

Harry and Jimmy leaned against the fence watching the riders as they waited for their turn, but interrupted by Melissa beaming all over her face. "Second," she said with a great satisfaction. Riding horses may have been a muggle pastime, but Melissa's daughters loved it all the same. After all, if the boss could do it, so could they. Adrian was deemed too small to compete, but Melissa popped him on the back of Clown, as the two ponies were led back to the horsebox, where their tack was removed, and they were left to nibble at the scant grass.

Chris's sons were muggles, which made not the slightest difference to their satisfaction when they collected ribbons. In this event, though, they were to miss out, fourth and fifth respectively. Harry said well done, it looked good to him. Jimmy said that they'd have to try harder, that they were obviously not concentrating.

There was a break then, and Harry hopped into the back of the horse box, and handed out a table and several chairs for Jimmy. They hadn't brought them, they were just conjured as needed, and would be vanished afterward. The picnic baskets were not conjured, they were carefully prepared by Tracy the cook, and by her irascible husband, Klaus. It was quite a large gathering with two sets of parents, the children, Jimmy Carr and Harry Potter. Harry looked like just another groom, and when a wizarding family passed by, the Finch-Fletchleys, no notice was taken of any of them.

Harry noticed them, and reminded himself to put a charm on the two horseboxes and the car that would be returning to his hidden home. He didn't want the vehicles to be followed, although it was years since the last time anyone had tried to kill him, and Nerrissa Malfoy was dead, killed by her brother. The great wizard helped himself to another slice of apple pie.

Harry's wife, Julie, was home, discussing with Kate the redecoration of a large downstairs room, that had sometimes been a bedroom, and sometimes an extra sitting room. Kate was a very beautiful girl, the only child of Harry's daughter, Beth. She had brown skin, slanting dark eyes, and glossy black hair. Both her parents were true Telepaths, but to the relief of her parents, Kate was not. Telepaths have difficult lives, although Beth and Jeremiah had eventually found each other, and were very happy together.

Except in the summer holidays, Kate attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and stayed at her grandfather's home in the short holidays of Easter and Christmas. Her parents always came to stay at Christmas, though. Christmas was important, even though it was a long way from their tropical home.

Late that afternoon, Harry helped his employees settle the horses, enjoying the chatter of the kids, most of whom had ribbons to show off. Beau was trying hard to be modest about his large cup, earned in the Junior Show jumping, but looked blushingly pleased with himself.

Harry had poor balance, a legacy from an old illness, like his illegible handwriting, and the fits of trembling he had now and then. He missed his footing, slid on a pile of dung, and added to the dirt on his clothes. Dusty, dirty, smelly, he headed back to the large and beautiful house that was his home, prudently using his cane this time.

He was met by his wife, Julie, just outside the door, wand in hand, who rebuked him for his shabby appearance, cleaned his clothes and especially his boots with magic, so that he would not bring dirt into the house, and reminded him that the annual Ministry Ball was on that evening. Harry whispered into her ear with a different suggestion for the evening's entertainment, and she giggled, but was firm. He was already late, he was to clean himself up, have a quick dinner which had been kept for him, and to get dressed as quickly as possible.

Two hours later, Harry Potter, looking impressive in his expensive dress robes, was involved in intense discussion with his stepson, Adam Bourne, and two other researchers from the Department of Mysteries. Adam had recently published a book, which disagreed with some of Harry's theories, but as Harry had not been able to provide as logical a basis for his theories as Adam had, Adam had won the argument.

Harry still thought he was right. Magic is, by no means, always logical, and Harry had a feeling...

He looked very different now, from the shabby groom who had worked with horses all day, and this time when the Finch-Fletchleys saw him, they stared in fascination at the great wizard, and wished they knew him well enough to venture to talk to him. Harry was of average height, still looked young, although a bit thin in the face, and with touches of white in his black hair. He was eighty-five years of age, but gave an impression of vigour and energy. Harry Potter was not ageing, and there were whispers now and then that he was an unnatural freak and should be driven out of the country. But they were not yet widespread.

Harry was deriving the benefit now from the years he had spent teaching at Hogwarts, from the time he was twenty-two, for nearly thirty years. Wizards and witches considerably his junior looked older than he did, and nearly all of those close to his age, were either suffering the infirmities of age, or had already died. Harry had a lot of funerals to go to, these days, which he found acutely depressing. But there was less resentment than there might have been, as so many had been students under Professor Potter, and did not judge him by normal standards.

He was Harry Potter; he was the great wizard; he was unique.

Unique or not, he loathed speeches, and Barbara Bancroft, Minister for Magic, was not the slightest bit surprised when she noticed that he was missing the moment it appeared that the formalities were about to commence.

Instead, Harry was passionately kissing his wife, inconspicuous under a tree outside, and murmuring to her that they should instantly go home and go to bed. And Julie's eyes, too, were half closed in passion, and she was tempted. Harry had persuaded her away from quite a few functions with this tactic, but this time she was firm. They could walk a little while the bulk of the speeches were done, but afterward, they were going back.

A couple of aurors on watch close by, were amused. This time it appeared the wife had won. Harry ignored the bodyguards, provided by the Ministry whether wanted or not, but Julie liked them. It made her feel important.

**x**

The Monday after, Harry was back at Hogwarts where he did three days teaching every week. He was sharing a joke at lunch with Nick Bagshott, Senior Professor under headmaster Euan Abercrombie, when an owl dropped a note in front of him. He was needed as quickly as possible to go to the Ministry. They had been called to Italy, where four pumpkin-heads had just been discovered.

Only two people in all the world were known to have the capability of rescuing pumpkin-heads. Harry Potter and his daughter, Beth. It was a horrible spell, the pumpkin-head. A person's head was abruptly turned into a pumpkin - ludicrous, laughable if it was not so tragic. For inside that pumpkin, the person was still there, usually frantic in panic, unable to see, hear or feel, and very quickly going mad. Some died almost straight away, most lasted a few months, although it took a few years before the vegetable would gradually wither away. It was urgent to rescue pumpkin-heads.

Euan and Nick were inconvenienced as other teachers had to replace Harry for the afternoon, but as Harry pointed out, the students would not go mad, the victims of the pumpkin-head curse might easily go mad.

There was the usual rustle of comment as Harry appeared in the Ministry of Magic. He knew his way around very well these days, and no-one challenged him as he headed toward the aurors' department, where he'd been asked to report. Other visitors to the Ministry would have been escorted by a clerk, but Harry Potter was the great wizard. He did as he pleased. A few noticed that he trembled and paused for a few minutes, using his cane to keep his balance. It meant nothing, they knew. Most of them had seen it before.

Jebedee's door was open. Jebedee Shacklebolt was the head of the Auror Department, and looked up in relief. "Ah, good," he said. "They're frantic over there. It seems it's their Minister for Magic, his senior assistant, and two aurors - they keep sending more and more urgent messages, even though it's only an hour ago."

"I'll apparate then, if you like - get there quicker - it's the usual place, I presume?" said Harry calmly, although no-one else could apparate that far in one hop, and doing it in steps of a few hundred miles was quite tiring.

"Great, I thought you would," said Jebedee. "But it's not the usual place - here are the apparation coordinates, and I've already sent two aurors, Lucas and Heinrich."

Harry was silent. "Anyone else there I might know?" he finally asked.

Jebedee said, "Well no, I don't think so. Why, are you shy or something?"

"Where is it then? Aside from the coordinates?" Harry asked.

Jebedee was regarding him, wondering what the problem was. "I only know that it's not at the Ministry."

Harry was going red, and paced up and down twice, before finally admitting. "I can't apparate to coordinates."

Jebedee stared at him in surprise, "What?"

Harry repeated, "I can't apparate to coordinates, I need some more information."

Jebedee was still stunned. "Since when?"

And Harry admitted, "Since I was sick."

"You've never said anything!" said Jebedee, "And you apparate all the time!"

"Not to coordinates, and I never said anything because I thought they might want to take away my apparation license."

Jebedee gave a crack of laughter, "Harry! You're the great wizard! They wouldn't take away your apparation license! And what if they did? Who can stop you doing exactly what you please?"

Harry was grinning, but shame-faced, "Jason's an awful fusspot, and apparation licenses is one of the things he's in charge of. No point asking for bother!"

Jebedee was still vastly amused, but agreed to keep it quiet. For over twenty years, Harry had apparated, it seemed, wherever he wanted, but now admitted that he could only apparate to a known place, or to a person he knew, and he didn't know the aurors who'd been sent. An alternative was found. On request, a city was named, and a muggle address supplied, although to the surprise of the Italians. Harry was confident apparating to Florence, and would take a muggle taxi from there.

There was little of 'the great wizard' in Harry's appearance, and he was wearing muggle clothing. Although they were expecting him, the Italians hesitated. This couldn't be the great wizard sent to rescue their Minister. But Harry went to them, put out his hand, and introduced himself. He was fluent in several languages, and could make himself understood in several more.

The English aurors, Lucas and Heinrich, were waiting for them, and Harry met them for the first time, feeling their identities sufficient that he would be able to apparate to them another time if needed. He was still embarrassed that he'd had to admit that he didn't have the basic skill of apparating to coordinates, something that any competent wizard should be able to do.

But he took it perfectly for granted, when, without incident, he rescued the four afflicted wizards, each of whom were either in a full scale panic, or, in the case of the aurors, berserk with rage. Even the protective barrier he conjured, see-though but almost transparent to telepathy, was something that only his young relative, Cissy, could do aside from himself. It was for good reason that Harry Potter was universally known as the great wizard.

They wanted to make a fuss of him then, but Harry glanced at his watch, told them firmly that he couldn't stay, and apparated back to Hogwarts in time for his final class.

The Italian Minister for Magic took several days to recover from the trauma of his experience, and then there was talk about giving a medal to Harry Potter. Minister Bancroft, they said, was to ensure that he went to a suitable formal occasion in order to be presented with the award. Barbara knew Harry well. She suggested that they send it.

**x**

Most Fridays, Harry Potter made trips to various foreign countries, where he cured witches and wizards who'd been afflicted with spells that the mediwizards couldn't break. Cissy could now cope with most of these, but there were always some that defeated her.

Harry referred to Cissy Diefenberger vaguely as a relative. She was a descendant, purely by accident, of three illegitimate children that he'd left in England, Germany and America. He only knew that he was the grandfather and great grandfather, not that he was the great grandfather twice over. It was unfortunate that the half dozen accidental children of Harry tended to feel an instant attraction for each other when they met. Harry had always been very careful, he thought, about contraception, but he was attractive to women, and, as his daughter said, he was obviously pretty potent.

Cissy had grown a little in skill over the years, but did not appear to have any more pure power than when she was sixteen. The Friday sessions were usually quick trips, although on rare occasions, Harry might tire himself too much to apparate, and would then return by muggle aeroplane with Cissy's team. He still pretended to do long apparations in steps, but hardly anyone actually believed him. No-one knew that he could apparate right across the globe if he chose. That was another ability that was supposedly impossible.

Harry had long ago noted that the Ministry apparently did not regard Cissy as in need of as much protection or surveillance as they had always inflicted on him. She was a qualified healer herself, so no other healer was assigned, and there were always only two aurors, one to be in the room with her, and one on guard outside in case of threat.

But Cissy had fewer problems. She had never managed to learn to do the telepathic cures, which sometimes resulted in irate clients for Harry, could not cure pumpkin-heads, and could not muster the strong magic that Harry could. Her cures were almost invariably uneventful, and did not leave her over-tired. When Harry had travelled as Cissy now did, there were usually four aurors trying to watch over him, and a healer was regarded as an essential member of the team. And that healer had mostly kept an alert watch on Harry's health, even when Harry himself thought it totally unnecessary.

**x**

The Ministry of Magic, and especially the Auror Department, started to have more difficult times, and were trying to recruit and train extra aurors. Harry saw a lot less of the aurors these days, and none of them told him that there was trouble with the Dementors. He might have wanted to help, but word had spread - that Harry Potter was a little unstable with regard to Dementors. They had little evidence for this belief, just something he'd said to Franz once, and an old school tale of him fainting whenever he came close to a Dementor.

But Jebedee, still head of the Auror Department, did not want him interfering. It was the job of the aurors to keep the world of wizardry safe. Harry was needed for his spell-breaking abilities. He was not an auror.

The problems were kept quiet, no mention was made in the Daily Prophet, and it was not common knowledge.

Dementors came up sometimes when Harry taught Defence against the Dark Arts, and he could describe them. Very tall figures with trailing, ragged black cloaks, that fluttered in a non existent wind, faces covered with cloth, hands that appeared to be rotting, dead. That they did not walk, but glided across the ground, and could fly. That they did not see as people saw, but appeared to have a different sense, they felt their way to people by sensing their emotions - their spirit. That they used people for sustenance, feeding off their emotions. That they liked to keep people as prisoners, so that they had a continual supply, but that sometimes they were more direct, 'Kissing' the victims so that their souls were lost, but then, of course, they were no longer useable. They fed off muggles, too, but didn't seem to like muggles as they liked witches and wizards.

And he'd tell his students how they made a person feel, that everything turned cold, and a person would know that there could never be happiness in the world again. And he had to admit that there were still countries that used them as prison guards because they could drain magical powers and render a powerful wizard defenceless. That obviously wizards could communicate with them, but that he himself had never been in a position to have a conversation. He had been close enough, oh, yes, he'd been close enough! But he never told them how close he had come to being 'Kissed' himself.

Then he'd teach the Patronus Charm, whether it was supposed to be in the lesson or not. The Patronus Charm was advanced magic, but Harry was a very gifted teacher, and there were hardly any of his students fail to master the charm, although sometimes only to the extent of conjuring a silvery shield, rather than the defined silvery animal that was the fully effective Charm.

As the months passed, Dementors made further progress in what was apparently a new ambition. They'd never acted like this before, but now they took over a cold area in the far North of Scotland, and were rapidly extending their territory. Muggles couldn't see them, and would not have been able to fight them if they did. A few rumours began to circulate.

**x**


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 2: Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

School holidays arrived, and as Harry and Julie had done for the past few years, they took Kate with them to her parents' place in the Pacific Islands. They stayed a week in the glorious tropical climate, grew tanned, travelled further, then returned to pick up Kate for her fifth year at Hogwarts. They'd had to come back a little earlier than usual this year, as Harry had agreed to do a week's spell-breaking in America before school resumed.

Kate only seemed to grow more beautiful with the passing years. She had a resemblance to Julia, a daughter of Harry's by a muggle. Julia was long dead, but Kate's slanting eyes, and the sheer glow of beauty were the same as Julia had possessed. But Julia had possessed a vein of cruelty and a ruthless desire for power over others. Kate had little desire to have power over anyone, and her intelligence and her magic were normal.

Waiting for Harry on their return, was an intriguing letter. Andrew and Hughie McRae, who lived in the Scottish Highlands, had written to thank him for persevering when they had found the Patronus Charm too difficult. According to the brothers, it had saved them from three Dementors, although they didn't know what the Dementors had wanted. Maybe they'd only wanted to talk... But there'd been disappearances, mostly muggles, and the brothers had been alarmed, and had driven them off with the charm.

Harry wanted to think, and he whistled up one of his horses. There were too many people around at the moment, he needed to be alone. 'Mischief' was a daughter of a famous racehorse, a contender in the Grand National, but the sire was the clever Pinto who now competed in novelty events, a child rider on his back. The mare, now six, seemed to have all the brains of her father, and a fair amount of speed from her mother. But she was high strung, and a difficult ride for anyone else but Harry.

Harry enjoyed her, and after their normal play of bucking and plunging, and after a long gallop on the nearby moors, he stopped her and let her graze as he sat on the ground, leaning against a stone fence.

Dementors. He'd had a very vivid dream about them the previous week - not his usual vague nightmares of confinement and helplessness, but a memory of a very specific occasion when Dementors had attacked his cousin, Dudley, and himself. And just a few days ago, he'd heard something. But it was from an unreliable source, a witch known for her sensational gossip. There was seldom a word of truth in what she said. But could there be this time?

There was something else. Six weeks ago, he'd gone to France, and although he'd rarely taken much notice, he'd seen that both of the aurors assigned to Cissy were very young. He'd mentioned it to Cissy, and she'd told him that was mostly what she had now, but that Sarah had started coming over as well, to make sure that things ran smoothly. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but it did suggest that there might be a shortage of experienced aurors.

He wondered if there was trouble, possibly with the Dementors. He'd find out next week, he thought, as he was going on a week's spell-breaking trip to America. Julie was to come, but Adrian would stay behind with Kate. There were plenty of staff, too, and they were not just workers, they were friends.

**x**

Monday, Harry and Julie joined the team of aurors that were going with them. Catherine strode in after them, looking as stern as ever, and Harry greeted her with pleasure. He hadn't seen the Ministry Healer in some time. He had to admit that he'd had some good times when he'd travelled with the team of aurors all over the world, even though the actual spell-breaking was often boring.

He was surprised at the team that he was allocated. There was Franz in charge, whom he knew well, and was experienced, but had apparently been hurt, and moved with difficulty. Of the three others, only one was even qualified - two were just starting their final year of training. Harry turned surprised eyes to Franz. They'd always given him such heavy protection in America.

Franz answered his tacit query. "Two to come yet," he said in a matter of fact voice, and just then, Beryl and Maureen walked in. They were very experienced aurors, but were in their fifties, and no longer as fit as an auror is required to be.

Harry was sure now, there was something going on. He'd get it out of Franz before the week was out!

Cissy had done the annual trip to America several months ago, but Harry hadn't been there for some years. Any Americans needing him had mostly travelled to Europe.

Their first stop was California. Harry loved the beach there, long stretches that went forever, and were wonderful to walk on at low tide. And it was warm enough to swim - not that Harry Potter needed it too warm. They were always laughing at him for going swimming when everyone else thought it much too cold.

There were few patients booked in, and not until after lunch. Everyone was having a good time, swimming and sunbaking in the free hour before lunch, and Harry was no longer bothering about things that might or might not be going on. If there was anything, he reckoned he'd know by the end of the week.

Julie was lying in the sun, wearing a brief bikini, and Harry was swimming. Leonard and Leopold, the trainees, were also in the water, but apparently too shy to come near. Paul had been sent to rest, as he was to cover the night shift. Franz was still fully dressed, and fully alert, as always, watching all around.

Harry had given up trying to persuade the Ministry that he didn't need protection, and only appreciated it when Leo overcame his shyness enough to offer him an arm as he struggled to negotiate the deep soft sand to his wife's side. There were too many muggles around to apparate, and he thanked Leo, who stepped back, blushing, as the great man dropped to the sand next to his wife. Leo was just nineteen.

It was nearly lunch time, but Julie was a tempting sight in her bikini, and Harry had a different suggestion to the amusement of Catherine, who was not quite out of hearing range. But Julie said that he had to eat, that he should know by now that sometimes he made himself too tired, especially now that most of the easy cases had already been taken care of.

Julie was right, and Harry needed his strong magic three times that afternoon, although he used his alternative method when possible. The telepathic cure was a lot easier for Harry, but often aroused bitter resentment in his patients in spite of careful warnings. Harry didn't like it for that reason. But there was no point exhausting himself, either.

Leo knew to ask for the patient's wand when Harry said that he'd be doing the telepathic cure. Harry had once been cursed by a furious wizard after the intrusion in a person's mind that was involved, and he'd lost count of the times he'd been hit or scratched, even though he tried to withdraw before that point. That was why there were always two aurors with him when he used the method. But it was the strong magic that was apt to leave his observers awe-struck, and Leo watched, mouth agape, as the great wizard called up a power that seemed to tear at the heartstrings, and almost made his head hurt.

But even though Cissy had already failed with these patients, there were still several that Harry was able to cure with a casual wave of his wand, and no effort at all. Cissy was nearly thirty, but Harry hadn't given up hoping that her power would increase. He'd been over forty when he'd first discovered he could fill the air with a power that broke the most difficult spells - what he still referred to only as 'the strong magic.'

The following morning, there were only a few cases that had occurred since Cissy's visit in February, and then they were taken to their next stop. Harry had temporarily forgotten that they had much to do except for a bit of boring work, and then to enjoy themselves the rest of the time.

They were two evenings there, and both evenings, tickets were obtained for shows. Harry had to cry off the second night, as he'd become too tired working. Julie went, and Franz gave Beryl the unused ticket.

That evening, Harry sat in the hotel sitting room that had been allotted to the group, uncharacteristically quiet, feet up on a conjured footstool, and reading a light novel. Franz was wandering around the hotel, talking to a few American aurors, and Paul was with Harry, reading a lengthy letter. Harry already knew that it was his girlfriend, Kirsty, who wrote to him every day. Kirsty worked in Muggle Affairs as assistant to Chris Atkins, now head of the Department.

Paul made a sudden comment. "Lance is hurt."

Harry looked up. "Lance Gilbert?"

"Yes, he's my uncle, so Kirsty knew that I'd want to know."

"Is he all right?"

"Kirsty says that they think he'll be fine, only a bit knocked about."

Harry mentioned, "I know Lance, gave him a kitten once."

Paul grinned. They were all a lot easier with Harry now. "That cat now runs the household. His wife dotes on it!"

"Cats have a way of making themselves loved." And then, casually looking down at his book, he asked, "How did he get hurt?"

But Paul was a bright boy, remembered his instructions, and said vaguely, "Oh, the usual thing, you know, a molester of muggles that didn't want to be arrested."

Harry cast him a sharp glance, the lie stuck out a mile, but he never looked at minds without a very good reason. He wasn't about to try, although it was easily within his capability. Instead, he stretched casually. "I might go and find Franz, see if he'll tell me what's going on at home."

Paul rose too, uneasy. "I have to go with you. Franz said not to leave you alone unless you insisted."

Harry picked up his cane, he always found it harder to keep his balance when tired, and he'd been knocked straight off his feet earlier when a child had run by him and brushed his shoulder.

Franz was talking to an American auror, and Harry joined them casually, as if only bored. Paul watched, alert for threats as was his job as a bodyguard, and hoping that Franz wouldn't think that he, Paul, had been indiscreet. But Harry only suggested that Franz might like to join him for a drink at the bar.

But even casually drinking in the bar, still watched anxiously by Paul in the background, Harry only enquired after Franz's wife and family, and spoke about Quidditch. After a while, he asked what the aurors had been up to lately.

Franz gave no hint that anything might be a problem at home, and spoke about some special training courses that they'd been involved in. Franz was being very careful. He suspected that Harry could know his thoughts if he chose, though Harry, whenever questioned, always said that he didn't do that without a very good reason.

It was only when Harry sat back in his seat, and said directly, "Dementors. Is it anything to do with Dementors?" that Franz started slightly, and his denial was too quick.

Harry watched him frowningly. "I'll go and see Jebedee when we get back," he finally said, "But Franz, you know that if you get into trouble at any stage, you can call me in your mind, just shout without opening your mouth, and I'll probably hear and I'll come. Any of the others, too, as long as I know them reasonably well. I can't do it with people I only know slightly."

Franz said, a touch irritated, "We're not helpless, you know, we're aurors, and we've saved_ your_ life more than once, I'd remind you."

Harry smiled at him, "I know. But I was a fighter before I was a spell-breaker, and no-one else can come and help just because you think it."

Franz snapped, "Jebedee says we're to keep you out of it!"

Harry's suspicions were confirmed. There was indeed something going on, but all he said was, "Have another drink?" .

He had a specially large suite allotted to him in the big hotel in New York, which was their third stay, for two nights. On the first evening, he invited the three young men to his room, and casually steered the conversation to Dementors. They were worried that he was going to start questioning them - they'd been warned not to tell him what they knew of the problems going on, beginning to develop into almost a war.

But instead, he was talking about the Patronus charm. Julie was there, too, and he asked her if she'd ever learned to conjure one.

An hour later, Julie, Paul, Leonard and Leopold were all working hard to produce a good Patronus. Leonard and Leopold had been already able to make a silvery shield, but Harry was deep involved in teaching, and when Franz heard triumphant cheers and joined them, it was because Leonard had succeeded in having his Patronus assume a form, that of a silvery wolf.

It was another half hour before Leopold managed the same, although Julie, to her own surprise, achieved it quicker.

Franz had an appearance of always being on guard, always alert, even when apparently relaxing in a chair. He was already able to make a powerful Patronus, but said that he'd send Beryl and Maureen to Harry afterward, and he could ensure that they could do it too.

**x**

Friday afternoon, when they arrived back at the Ministry, Julie did as Harry had asked, and kept Franz involved in discussion while Harry slipped away, and, to save time, apparated into the corridor outside the Aurors' Department.

There were hardly any aurors there, even though it was still working hours. There was only Anthony, using a crutch to walk, and Malcolm, with new scars on his face. Two very young men walked through, involved in deep discussion, and Harry, who'd put a 'Don't Notice Me' Charm on himself, looked around, saw something new, a large table, and looked closely at the model of what appeared to be countryside, part of it shadowed black.

Harry dropped the charm, and Anthony immediately called out to him. "Harry, you're not supposed to be here!"

Harry said, "Hello, Anthony. You've hurt yourself."

Anthony was looking harassed. "Jebedee'll kill us. How'd you get in?"

"Through the door, how else?" asked Harry.

Anthony shook his head, but laughing. "There's a charm on it these days - no unauthorised entry."

"Sorry, I guess I just didn't notice."

Franz had alerted Jebedee by now, having seen through Julie's delaying tactics almost straightaway. Maybe Jebedee could handle it better than he could. But Franz wasn't altogether in agreement with Jebedee on this issue. They had the most powerful wizard in the world available to help, they were in trouble, and Franz thought that they needed all the help they could get, even if it was only to teach the aurors how to conjure a better Patronus Charm.

Jebedee and Franz found Harry where they expected him to be, again looking carefully at the map, Anthony with him, but not speaking. Harry looked at Jebedee, and in a persuasive tone, said, "Tell me." Jebedee told him.

The Dementors had established a stronghold, and several muggle families in the area seemed to have disappeared. It was thought that two or three renegade wizards might be working with them. It was thought that they had wizard or muggle servants, too, but it wasn't known for sure. That for weeks, the aurors had been trying to drive them away, or at least contain them, but were having no success. The injuries that Harry had seen were mainly due to aurors getting themselves hurt as they fled mass attacks. They had lost some aurors, some missing, others, for instance, Ivan and Brian had been found, sort of alive, but sort of not. It was thought that the Dementors had given them the Kiss, sucking out their souls.

Harry was staring in horror. This was worse than he could have imagined.

"Where are they?" he finally asked, "Ivan and Brian."

"St Mungo's," answered Jebedee.

"Can I have a look?"

Jebedee nodded. He was beginning to feel a relief, and was glad that Harry had found out.

After Harry had told Julie that he'd be a bit delayed, that she was to go home without him, Jebedee and Harry apparated into St. Mungo's, and Jebedee led him off to the closed ward. The two men who used to be aurors, were sitting side by side, staring at nothing.

Harry touched the hand of Ivan, closed his eyes, concentrated, and then did the same with Brian. "Dead," he said, "The same as pumpkin-heads after the person dies, there's just nothing left."

He asked who was missing, but of the five who were missing, he didn't know three, and only knew two very slightly, not enough to search for them in his mind.

Wars didn't stop for weekends, and on Saturday, Harry opened his mind, felt for an auror he knew who was in the forward position, and Alex, surprised, found Harry Potter at his side. The aurors were not doing much, just camping, and waiting to see what would happen, ready to repel attacks, but not making attacks unless Zack Bradbury, coordinating the effort under the overall orders of Jebedee, should decide.

Harry had a long talk with Zack and Jebedee, who also arrived. He agreed with Jebedee, there was really not much that he could do that wasn't already being done. He admitted to them that he was probably worse than most when it came to Dementors, that he seemed to be more affected, that he would quite quickly faint when they came too close, and was then, of course, unable to fight.

All of the aurors in the forward position were able to conjure a Patronus shield, the only effective defence against the creatures. But a Patronus only defends and repels, it neither attacks nor kills.

Harry spent the weekend with any of the aurors who were still unable to conjure a corporeal Patronus, the fully effective Charm. Only a particularly powerful wizard was supposed to be able to do that, but Harry had no failures.

**x**

Monday was the beginning of September, and a new school year. Harry was back at Hogwarts, but his first class had to wait for him, as he talked to Euan, the headmaster. When Harry joined them, they found that instead of Transfiguration, they were to learn the Patronus Charm.

During the next few weeks, Harry checked in daily with the aurors, wanting to know what was happening, and spent the rest of his time teaching the Patronus Charm, systematically working through the students during school hours, and after school hours, those of the teachers who couldn't already work a powerful charm, and every other member of staff who was not a Squib. Even stern Madam Borthwick, the school nurse, found herself under his tuition.

Euan had a great deal of respect for Harry Potter, and even though this time he thought he was taking things to extremes, gave him the cooperation he asked for, especially after Harry showed him the letter from the McRae brothers.

His own staff at home were also put through their paces. Kevin could still do it, and so could his wife, and Melissa and Jason Wiley, of course, as security guards, but Tracy and Klaus had to work at it, Klaus grumbling constantly.

The boss ignored his complaints, and wouldn't let him go until he produced a silvery dog Patronus. Tracy's was a cat, making Harry wonder if it had something to with the pair's often fiery relationship.

Harry was surprised when old Milly appeared from her comfortable chair in the kitchen, grumbling, but demanding to be taught. And it was only a few minutes before Mil produced a fierce looking eagle, to Harry's hearty congratulations. Milly was very pleased with herself, especially at the respectful looks she was getting from the others. Milly was ninety-one.

Dementors are invisible to muggles, but Harry called up the muggles on the estate, and Jimmy Carr, who was a squib. Chris and Chrissy and their two sons, Jimmy Carr's wife, Annie, and old John's widow, Jesse, and told them all about Dementors. That if they felt very cold for no reason, and that all happiness had gone from the world, they should send sparks into the air, or sound an alarm. And then and there, he conjured short wand-like gadgets, with two buttons, that would send alarm sparks into the air, or make a siren. They were instructed to carry them at all times.

He spent time with Will separately. Will was feeble-minded, big, with a battered and scarred face. He'd come to Harry at the age of twenty-two, hurrying fearfully up the drive and demanding a job. He'd been called Lumpy Willy then, or more usually, just Lumpy. He'd been sent to the big house with the high fences for a joke. Harry had been ill at the time, was unable to walk, and needed a helper. There was a gentleness in the ugly man, a desire to be useful, and a desire to look after things. Harry found it a lot easier to need help when it was Will who was helping him, and when he became a great deal worse, he thought that it was only because of Will that he'd been able to survive.

Will was over forty now, and worked as a farmhand. It was a long time since Harry had been sick, but Harry would always value his big friend, Will. For Will, Harry was his idol, pure and simple.

Harry was as patient as he needed to be, but Will, too, wound up with a device that would give the alarm if he suddenly felt cold and unhappy. Will felt very proud at being trusted like this, and would sometimes just look with pleasure at the device that Harry had made. He never made any false alarms, as Beau had predicted, and always kept it on him, just as he'd been told.

Harry started visiting his extended family then, badgering them until they could all produce a powerful Patronus, only failing in the case of one of Gemme's daughters, and even she could produce a thin shield. But when Julie saw him looking assessingly at six year old Adrian, she told him firmly that he'd gone far enough, that the aurors were taking care of it, and it was not his job to worry.

So Harry laughed and agreed, and they took a couple of the horses, and galloped on the moors instead. Mischief was in fine fettle that day, and Harry was full of glee as the skewbald plunged, reared and bucked. He clung to her bare back like a limpet - he loved to play like this. Julie's horse was a much older and taller horse, a chestnut, and sedate. Julie's horse looked down his nose at Mischief, and Harry was sure that look was of disapproval for them both.

For some reason, their love-making that night was one of those special times, one of those times that seems to fill the whole house with the joy and the love.

Afterward, they should have slept well, but Harry had a nightmare that Julie, for a change, couldn't soothe, and he wound up walking the estate in the middle of the night, escorted by Sambo, Chrissy's enormous black dog.

**x**


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 3:_

The following day, Harry finished classes at Hogwarts, and visited Jebedee as usual, in his office at the Ministry. Jebedee welcomed him these days, and talked to him of strategies and tactics. Still nothing was happening, Jebedee told him. It seemed to be a stalemate, and several of the aurors had been recalled and replaced by others. There had been no further casualties, and no action had been reported on the part of the Dementors.

The talk strayed. Harry no longer went overseas on spell-breaking expeditions, even for a few hours. He wanted to stay around in case he could be of help. There had been troubles once before when he was travelling, and aurors had died whom he had known. Ones who had been his friends. But now Jebedee and Harry were talking about the latest Quidditch match.

An owl came hurtling into the room, and dropped a note on Jebedee's desk. Jebedee hurriedly opened it, and was scanning it. Harry watched him, tense. And then Harry started to his feet, "It's Paul!" he exclaimed. "He's in trouble."

He was still standing, tense, listening, before his eyes returned to Jebedee, who was watching him closely.

Harry said briefly, tersely, "I'll bring him back to the atrium, you should have Catherine there," and as Jebedee raised a hand to detain him, he was no longer there.

Harry apparated next to Paul into a small windowless cell deep in an ancient castle. There were two other aurors there, lying inert on the floor. No Dementors were in the cell, but Harry could feel them all around. The cold was chilling, striking him to the bone. Swiftly, he gathered up Paul, barely conscious, disapparated, and put him down in the atrium of the Ministry. Neither Jebedee nor Catherine were there yet, and people called out in surprise as the crumpled heap was lowered to the floor.

Harry disapparated as Jebedee hurried toward him. Very quickly, though, he was back. Heinrich, this time, was lowered to the floor. Jebedee detained him a moment, giving him one of the devices that aurors used to call for help, noting that Harry was already looking white and ill, and that the old forehead scar had blazed into life, as it tended to do when Harry was angry or fighting.

Harry returned to the cell. One more auror to collect, and there were more Dementors there. He reconjured the Patronus, that had protected him on the previous excursion, but now one of the dark creatures continued to approach him, knocking away the silvery stag as if it was unimportant, ignoring the glow that filled the cell. Harry's head was spinning, he always fainted if they got too close, and there was another auror to rescue. He retreated, and suddenly glanced at the unconscious wizard, not knowing whether the spell that sent luggage home would work for a living person. It had never been done before. Death was better than being the victim of Dementors.

The third auror vanished, and Harry fought to disapparate. But Dementors have their own magic, different from that of wizards. He could not disapparate.

A very few Dementors are of a higher grade than the norm, and it was one of these Privileged Ones that had been called to the cell by the feel of a spirit beyond the ordinary. The Patronus Charm did not work against the Privileged Ones, and they had other protections, too. The creature was close. Harry could not disapparate, and sank to the floor in a faint.

Back in the Ministry building, there was outcry as another crumpled figure abruptly appeared, unaccompanied. Jebedee waited.

Three aurors were taken to St. Mungo's. Jebedee wished that he'd switched on the device he'd handed to Harry before putting it in his hand. More information came in. It had not been an attack on the whole of the assembly of wizards, just the three aurors who had become separated from the others, and were then taken by a force of Dementors. A large number of Dementors can almost always overcome a few Patronus Charms.

Paul, Lucas and Heinrich had been taken. Now they'd been rescued, but who would rescue Harry?

Jebedee waited. Harry did not come back.

**x**

Several slaves worked for the Dementors. Most had been workers at wizard prisons in countries where they still used Dementors as guards. They'd been forcibly taken, but these were wizards who could communicate easily with the Dementors, and who were less affected by the aura of cold and misery that they projected. It was a convenience for the Dementors to use these men, and these wizards did not suffer greatly. They were no longer paid, and they were away from their families, but the work was light, and the same as they'd done formerly.

The slaves wondered what was happening. The Dementors were so excited, flitting around at an unaccustomed speed, and they'd seen the Privileged One, who was rarely seen. They didn't know how they could tell that it was a Privileged One, as it appeared exactly the same as the others. But there was a difference, and it was instantly discernible.

In the cell that Harry had not been able to escape, he was surrounded by excitement. The Dementors sucked on the air, with their long, rattling breaths, as they drew in the feeling of emotion that was their sustenance. None of them lowered their hoods. They were only allowed to do that if it was a muggle. Wizards were mostly to be kept alive, to feed them indefinitely. But this one was different, and a Privileged One leaned over the unconscious body.

Harry had flung a hand over his face as he sank to the floor, but now it was tenderly removed from the face. Mostly, when a Dementor prepared to administer the Kiss, it was against frantic resistance, which became a part of the pleasure. But this time, the victim was lost in blackness.

The face of a Dementor was at all times hidden behind a hood - except for times like this. The Privileged One lowered its hood, and Harry's face was covered with the face of the Dementor. His mouth and nose were sealed, the Dementor's specially modified jaw appendages parted his teeth a little, and locked around them. Between the teeth, now unable to bite down, a black, narrow, but very strong physical tongue penetrated deeper than one could think possible, exploring, penetrating, tasting the body.

There was also a mental penetration. Deep in the mind of Harry Potter, the Privileged One took some minutes to batter down the defences. The defences were strong, and it took a little longer than usual, but Dementors had evolved to feed from humans, and there was no real difficulty. And then the Dementor sipped direct from the spirit of the special one.

It was a part of the magic that the face was sealed so that the victim could not breathe in the normal way, but was supplied with oxygen anyway. And a tongue reached down the throat, and there was no gagging. A parasite must be able to keep its victim alive.

There was something about Harry Potter that was very special to the Dementors, and the Privileged One tasted his spirit. For a little, the body lay inert as the Dementor fed, and then it revolted against its use, spasming in a violent fit. Without hurry, the Dementor withdrew from the helpless, jerking body of Harry, and replaced its hood. It indicated to another, but this one was strictly limited, and when time was up, it withdrew.

Another and another were allowed the taste of a special spirit, and again Harry's body started to fit, but feebly, and only for a very short time.

There was not much left, but again the Privileged One lowered its hood. It desisted while Harry was still alive, but he was only barely alive.

After a few days, a slave was assigned to care for Harry, who still lay unmoving. It took only minutes for the slave to notice an old and faded zigzag scar on his forehead, above the right eye, to look more closely, and word went out to the slaves. It's Harry Potter! It's the great wizard! Harry was cleaned, and kept alive.

Harry opened his eyes eventually, as the slave tried to spoon a thin gruel into his mouth. He pushed away the spoon, with confused words of protest. In the cell, although at the far side, two Dementors hovered. Harry forgot about Patronus Charms, forgot that Dementors could not be killed, and lashed out with his magic, killing them anyway. The slave stared, open mouthed.

Harry was trying to get to his feet, trying to disapparate, but could do neither. He was still so weak, but he did not understand why he could not disapparate. It was many years ago that he'd learned to ignore anti-disapparation charms, and being very ill had never stopped him before. But this was Dementor magic, and he could not defeat it. He subsided. The slave still stared, terrified, at the two Dementors dead on the floor.

Harry looked around and used his magic to try and make a hole in the wall. Maybe he could turn himself to a hawk, and fly to freedom. More Dementors appeared, and Harry attacked them, too, killing three more before he was overwhelmed.

He was not punished for the deaths. Maybe Dementors did not perceive them as important. Instead, the Privileged One touched his face to magically vanish the prickles of beard growth that might interfere with a smooth seal, and used him again, very carefully, not taking as much as before. And now another had arrived, another Privileged One, and this one, too, tasted something unique.

After that, the Dementors hovered closer in the cell, close enough to more effectively drain powers, and needing only a short glide forward before Harry would again be reeling into unconsciousness.

They wanted to keep him alive. He was something very special to them. Every day, the two Privileged Ones would feed from his spirit, only needing to come close to render him helpless. Sometimes, others were allowed a taste.

Harry continued to fight, although it was not often that he was able to fight as effectively as he'd done when he'd caught them by surprise.

Harry was filled with an overwhelming despair. The slave did not reappear, and the Dementors always made everything so cold. There was no room for happiness where a Dementor hovered.

He was starving to death. Twice a day, large meals were brought in, and settled down for his use. But they were always put down too close to the hovering guards, and if Harry tried to come closer to get to food, he would find himself sinking into blackness again. Instead, he would squeeze himself as far away from the guards as possible, and again try to lash out. Mostly he only managed to make them flinch, and then they'd come closer so that he fainted. But sometimes, he killed them, and then he could get his meal, and eat, frantically, before more guards appeared.

If there was time, he would again hammer at the thick stone wall with his magic, trying to make a hole. There was no hope in him, even as the hole gradually became bigger. Close contact with Dementors left no room for hope, but he did it anyway, even when he no longer remembered why.

The Dementors were blind, they had different senses, but they never saw the hole that slowly deepened. It was slow, for even Harry's great magic was weakened with the Dementors all around. They didn't need to be in the cell with him, it worked, although to a lesser degree, even outside the door, or further away. He only needed a hole big enough for a hawk to squeeze through. There must have been other ways than a direct attack on the solid stone, but it was so cold, and he could not think...

Within himself, Harry knew that they were doing something awful to him when he could not resist, and he would look at the Privileged Ones when they entered the cell with a special fear. Every day, they came. Usually, they seemed impervious to his magic, not even flinching when he tried to kill, and totally ignoring it when he managed to produce a weak Patronus.

One day, as the Privileged Ones fed, three wizards came in to watch. The dark haired brothers looked away, but the big, fair wizard came closer, fascinated. They knew who the prisoner was. He was Harry Potter, the great wizard. The big one kept a couple of souvenirs. Harry never saw them, never knew they were there. They took no chances, and never came again.

Weeks went by, progressing in a sort of nightmare. There were dreams of awful things, and always the Dementors hovered close, usually two, often three.

They never punished him if he managed to kill. To the Privileged Ones, it was only more proof of the great spirit that they would sip from every day.

The greater part of his days was spent in blackness, as it always took several hours to recover from those times when the Privileged Ones would enter his cell. Quite often, others were allowed a taste, and once, one of the slaves heard and understood as a Dementor communicated with another, that this day it was to be allowed to have a sip of the special spirit. The Dementor was filled with pleasurable anticipation.

When he killed, the slaves were allowed in to the cell, where they would look with fascination at the unconscious figure of Harry Potter. But they were not allowed to linger. They were there only to remove the bodies.

The Privileged Ones always seemed totally indifferent to the deaths, and even the ordinary Dementors seemed to regard it as unimportant, accepting the duty of guarding this particular prisoner as if it was a privilege, even when it carried the risk of a sudden death. His most immediate guards were sometimes allowed to taste... And they could feel his emotions, and that was food too, with a special flavour that they relished.

The Dementors didn't seem to understand that he could not eat when the food was too close to one of his guards, and when a Privileged One tried to communicate with him, he just stared in horror. The Privileged One retreated to the far side of the cell, and sent out the guards. Again it tried to communicate, but it had given just too much space between them, and when Harry hurled his magic, the Privileged One, most unusually, was killed.

Harry was alone in his cell, and now he concentrated his energies, quickly, frantically, on enlarging the hole so that he might fly away. But it was only a moment before more Dementors came in, surrounding him close, and he went again into a faint.

There was a lot of fear among the slaves the day Harry killed a Privileged One. There was always an accounting among the slaves when he killed, but it tended to take the form of a rather macabre joking. 'Harry's in good form today,' they'd say, as three bodies were put in the corner of the yard. After a few hours, and a foul smell, the bodies would disappear into the atmosphere.

But this had been one of the Privileged Ones, and the slaves were afraid. What would the Dementors do to those at their mercy now?

The Dementors did nothing. It was only further proof of the great spirit of the special one.

Every day, Harry's daughter, Beth, who was a Telepath, would try and look at his mind, as Jebedee and the others waited and watched.

Harry seldom became aware of her, but she could feel him, and know that he was alive. It was hard for her. His mind was seldom clear enough to communicate, always either unconscious, or filled with the great despair that is the magic of the Dementors.

He never became more accustomed to them, as one might expect. Whenever a Dementor came close, he was overcome by blackness. And every day, they would touch his face to remove beginning prickles of beard, and then use him for sustenance.

Jebedee and Barbara Bancroft, the Minister for Magic, were convinced that Wizardkind needed to be united against the Dementors. It appeared that their own aurors were insufficient to evict the Dementors from their stronghold, but Barbara had been talking to all the Ministries, pleading for help, pointing out that they would be next. If the Dementors were not kept under control, they could do as they willed, feeding on Wizardkind until there were only muggles left.

She had made little progress formerly, but now it was known around the world that the great wizard had been helpless in their hands for a month. If Harry Potter could be taken, who else would have any hope of escaping?

Contingents of aurors started to arrive from all the nations of Europe, and then a large force from America. This was to be war, but they were not ready to attack yet. They had to succeed. They had to do it right.

One day, the remaining Privileged One watched Harry a long time. The special one was dying. There had been no killings for a week, and he could sense the spirit becoming less. He had only had a bare taste that day, and no other was given even that. A slave was appointed, as maybe another human might more effectively keep him alive. But every day still, the Privileged One would sip from his spirit, draining his magic, draining his strength, draining his will.

Part of the problem was obvious to the slave - and now Harry was fed, and became a little stronger. He tried to speak to the fellow human, but the guards had orders, and any communication had them straightaway pressing close, so that again, Harry became unconscious. The Dementors did not want his spirit affecting the slaves, they might become too hard to manage.

Harry tried to communicate telepathically with the slave, but the overwhelming emanations from his guards seemed to interfere. He knew only that the slave was called Justinian. And Justinian was only allowed in at mealtimes so that he could eat.

The slave could not understand why Harry fainted whenever the Dementors came close, and it seemed strange to him that Harry apparently could not hear when they made their communications. Their communications were perfectly clear to the slaves.

For Harry, they were too alien, too different, too loathsome. The slave explained to his masters what was necessary, and now the food was placed next to Harry, even as he retreated in horror at their approach, and then fainted.

But once he revived, the guards were back in their usual place, and he could eat. He no longer killed guards, but instead, whenever he was able, he tried to enlarge his hole, and when it became obvious that it only led to the next cell, tried harder to sense the outside world, and started another hole in what he thought might be an external wall. The two dull eyed prisoners in the next cell took no notice.

It was always so cold...

**x**

Eight weeks after Harry's imprisonment began, the combined forces of aurors pressed a little closer. Now the ancient castle was under constant surveillance. The wizard allies of the Dementors spent less time in the stronghold. They were frustrated. The Dementor leader, the Privileged One, was so distracted by the daily use of Harry Potter, that he no longer took notice of them. It was like the Dementor was on a drug, that left it unable to think of conquest. The army of Dementors now only defended their territory, and they stopped raiding for extra prisoners.

Finally, there was a hole into the next cell, and another, that Harry could scarcely see, through another wall. There seemed to be light coming through that second hole. The guards always retreated now to the far side of the cell, once they gave him his meal. Always, invariably, he passed out when they came close, but they always stayed back afterward, to give him a chance to eat. He was to be kept alive. He was unique. No-one else had that taste. No-one else had a spirit that filled them with ecstasy.

It was a very long time since Harry had transformed himself into a hawk. But he hadn't forgotten how. Through the first hole, through the second, and he was in a larger room, open to a passage. He was still deep below the ground.

Desperate for daylight, for freedom, he flew frantically, and ascended a flight of steep steps, until finally, he was able to fly through a small open window into an inner courtyard.

The castle was under surveillance from the distant aurors. They wondered why there was a sudden flight of Dementors, and became very alert. They did not see the hawk that was Harry, as he was overwhelmed almost the moment he reached open air. He had not even cleared the outer walls of the castle. The hawk form did not protect him from the influence of the Dementors. They came close, he passed out, and returned automatically to his normal form. He only fell ten feet, and broke no bones.

Two more Privileged Ones arrived. They too, wanted to feed from the special one. No attempt was made to punish him for his escape attempt, although the holes were felt for, and the walls reinforced with the magic of the Dementors.

But now there were three Privileged Ones, and for two of them, it was their first taste. Again, Harry was left barely alive, too weak to feed himself.

Beth, when she tried to feel his mind, was in despair. Harry was close to death. But part of it was lack of food and water, and a slave was let back in, and he began to be a little stronger again.

More time passed, and for the first time, when Beth felt his mind, Harry looked up and she felt his response. She seemed to give him back a little spirit, and he regarded the guards, suddenly hurling his magic. They died. And now he battered with his magic and with his fists, frantically, at the walls around him. More Dementors entered, and Harry killed more Dementors.

Beth, listening, felt his fury and despair, and wished she could give him more strength.

He was throwing all he had into the struggle, and staggered toward the door, killing again as a Dementor attempted to bar his way. He was in the corridor, and he killed and killed again, until the quantities overwhelmed him.

The Privileged Ones fed still from his spirit, every day. And the guards stayed closer. He must not escape. Instead he began again to die.

When Beth felt him again, he did not respond to her. But she knew what he was doing. Harry was looking inside himself. He knew where to give a small magical squeeze, the one that gave death. But he was so weak, and when he tried, he found he could not even do that.

More time passed. Harry was extremely thin. He mostly managed to eat, but he became thinner anyway.

Most times when Beth called to him, he would answer. But there seemed no avenues left for escape. He tried twice more to go out the door, but both times, the corridor was packed with Dementors, and he only managed to kill a few, and then was overwhelmed. It seemed pointless to kill them, there were always more. For some reason, killing Dementors seemed to take less energy than other magic, less energy even then killing himself.

He tried a Patronus that might clear the way for an escape, but he could scarcely make a glow. He started to make a hole in the ceiling, but there seemed to be fewer times now when he was sufficiently strong. Progress was pitifully slow.

**x**

He didn't know when Christmas came and went. He was so weak now, and barely roused enough to take a little food. The slaves seldom spoke about him any more. There had been no killings for a long time, and they were saddened that the great wizard no longer fought.

The auror army pressed forward further, but it was difficult to fight a foe that could not be killed. The territory of the Dementors was now limited to the castle and the immediate environs. The human allies of the Dementors had abandoned them. Of the very few Privileged Ones in the world, three were at this castle, preoccupied by the daily taste of the spirit of Harry Potter.

The Privileged Ones could only sip now, there was so little left. The special spirit was dying, but they didn't want him to die. Maybe open air would help. Harry was taken from his cell, and tied to a stake outside in the courtyard. Dementors are blind, and their ways are alien. Harry had already shown that he could turn himself into a hawk, but was only tied with magically reinforced bonds.

Slaves found a reason to go through the courtyard once word spread, and stared at the thin figure crumpled on the ground. How many had he killed altogether? They tried to make an accounting but gave up. No matter how many were killed, it seemed to make no difference to the numbers. It was a miracle that he could kill Dementors - no-one else had ever done that. And they looked in awe at the pathetic figure.

It took a while before Harry realised that he'd been moved. He was roused by the daily contact from Beth. She couldn't bear to feel his mind more than once a day. The awfulness of his captivity was too great. And she knew more than he did what was happening when the Privileged Ones came close.

He blinked at the weak January sunshine. He was outside. There were no Dementors very close. His form melted into that of a hawk, the ties dropped off, and he threw himself into the air, above the castle walls, dodging frantically as alerted Dementors tried to stop him.

From not so far away, the aurors watched, not knowing the significance of the bird, until Beth ran to a high vantage point, calling ecstatically, "It's Dad! He's getting away!"

The hawk broke free of the milling black figures, and was beating its wings frantically, furiously, throwing all it had into heading toward Beth, whose presence he could feel. Its flight was veering to the left, and Jebedee was suddenly convinced. "It's Harry! Try and defend him," and Jebedee hurried forward, wand at the ready, intending to make a Patronus the moment he was close enough. He was joined by others, and a wall of Patronus spells sped toward the fleeing hawk.

They were still out of range, and Beth caught her breath in horror as the hawk was overwhelmed by a veil of black figures. The Dementors had him again, retreating from the spells of the aurors, but taking Harry with them. Beth was not the only one with wet eyes.

Beth tried to contact him again an hour later. He heard, but made no acknowledgment. And Beth clung to Jeremiah as she was overwhelmed by his despair.

They broke his arms. Carefully, almost gently, a Dementor took an upper arm in two strong hands, and exerted its strength until the bone gave way beneath its fingers. And then the other arm. He would not be able to fly away if his wings were broken. And with their total lack of understanding of the physical needs of humans, they failed to realise that now he would not be able to eat.

And when he answered Beth as she made contact, he told her that his arms were broken, he could not eat, and that he was going to die now. She was not to call him again, or even to feel him. It was the end. Harry Potter said that he could not fight any more.

**x**

The forces of aurors numbered close to two thousand. Nearly every major wizarding country in the world had contributed, all those countries where Harry had broken spells for years. In Italy, in Austria and in Sweden, he had rescued aurors from the horrible slow madness and death of the pumpkin-head. There was a German auror, too, called Emil. Emil wanted very much to free Harry Potter.

Home forces in dozens of countries were left dangerously depleted.

In England, an opportunity was seen to revive an almost forgotten sport. Muggle women were raped, often with the help of the Imperius Curse, and then their memory modified, and many were left to raise a wizard child, never knowing that their husband was not the father of that child.

There would be a lot more muggle-borns at Hogwarts in twelve years time. While Harry Potter had been around, no English wizard had indulged himself that way. He had castrated a rapist once, and the story was still told, considerably exaggerated. But Harry Potter wasn't coming back.

Aurors whom Harry had worked with for years were now prepared to fight and die, to free Britain from a threat, but also to free their friend, the great wizard who had become so important to them. There were missing colleagues, too, five aurors, presumed prisoners.

Helmer Roos was there, an illegitimate son of Harry's, born to a Swedish muggle. He was an experienced and powerful auror, and would be in the forefront of the fighting.

And Beth was there. As well as being a Telepath, Beth was a powerful witch. Like Harry, she had the almost unique gift of being able to work powerful, conscious, and directed magic without a wand. But her parents had kept her hidden when she was a child, and no-one but Harry, Beth and her husband, Jeremiah, knew that she had that ability.

The army of aurors prepared for the final assault. The Dementors were to be driven out of Britain forever. If it were only possible, an attempt would have been made to exterminate them. They were parasites, their only sustenance the emotions and spirits of humans, especially of Wizardkind. But Dementors could not be killed by wizards.

Harry was still alive. It may have been a bare spark of life, but now Justinian, the slave, was kept in the cell also, and Justinian would raise Harry a little, and would hold drinks of water to his lips, while Harry's broken arms sagged helplessly. He could seldom get Harry to eat. He no longer wanted to live, and turned his face away from food.

Mostly, now, he just lay on the floor, haunted by horrible dreams, sometimes barely conscious, more often unconscious. And still, every day, three Privileged Ones would take their tiny taste. They could take no more. There was too little left. It may have been constantly renewed, his spirit or whatever it was they drank from, renewed from some deep wellspring in his innermost soul, but it was being renewed more slowly, and less. Harry Potter was heartsick.

When Beth decreed the preparations for his reception and care, she took into account that he was sick at heart as well as in body.

They waited for him at home, hoping desperately that the aurors could rescue him. Will, who had looked after him before when he was sick, was moved to a small upstairs bedroom so that he could be close. The recently redecorated large downstairs room was again a bedroom, waiting for Harry. It was more convenient to care for him there.

Harry's friend, Healer Hermione Granger, moved to the bedroom she always stayed in when she was at his home. Hermione was old, and she was to be helped by Healer Ben Weasley, her son. If needed, the Ministry Healer, Catherine Rutherford, could also be called in. But Hermione was his friend, and Beth said that it was vitally important that he be at home, and surrounded by friends.

Hermione no longer apparated, and had been brought by Ministry car. Harry's home had been hidden, even from the Ministry, but Beth said that the secrecy was something of less importance than his life. There was such a tiny flicker of life remaining. Beth knew. She still felt him every day, though he never acknowledged her call.

Julie had not been able to withstand the wait. She became so distraught that she was sent to stay with her sister in America. She was not to think about her husband. She was to be looked after as well as possible, a long way away from the scenes of trauma. Julie may have loved Harry, but sometimes, she was not strong enough for the dangerous life that had been his destiny since he was born.

A battle was raging outside. In a quiet cell, Justinian wondered why only one guard was left with them. There had always been two or three constantly guarding Harry Potter. And one day, only one Privileged One came to use their victim, instead of three. Two had left. The tiny sip they could have these days was not enough to keep them in the besieged castle.

Justinian didn't know that all the other wizard prisoners were now dead, and that the Dementors had started to feed on the slaves. The Dementors would be leaving soon, and the slaves were no more use to them.

Two of the slaves took a little food and water, and hid themselves deep in underground dungeons. They saved themselves.

Then there were no guards in the cell, but the remaining Privileged One still came every day. He was the first and original, the one that had filled itself to repletion when Harry was first helpless on the floor, and had scarcely missed a day since, only a few times when it knew that even just taking a taste would tip him over the edge into death.

Justinian didn't know what was happening. For two days, no meals were brought, and the water jug was almost empty.

His charge never moved these days, just waited to die, not even wondering why it was taking so long. Justinian took care of him the best way he knew, and now the guards were gone, he talked to him. To Harry, it was only a buzzing in his head.

The Privileged One came, and Harry looked at him with the special horror he felt for this creature, so loathsome, so alien. Harry's eyes glittered, but his face and body were that of a skeleton.

The Privileged One was going to finish him now, the castle was to be abandoned, and the special one was of no further use. But the glittering eyes regarded him, and suddenly a weak Patronus surrounded Harry. It was only a gesture of defiance, even his stag had not affected the Privileged One.

The Dementor changed his mind, and Justinian felt his amusement, and he heard his communication. _You may have your way. I will leave you alone, and use the slave instead. _And, to Justinian's horror, he turned to him.

But Harry exerted his will, and Justinian was surrounded also by the weak and useless Patronus.

_You still defy me_, Justinian heard, _so close to death_.

Harry just watched, too weak to raise himself from the floor, and the glittering eyes were indeed filled with defiance.

_You even try to defend the slave!_ and Justinian again felt the amusement of the Dementor.

There was a pause. The Dementor was feeling the emotions in the room, pure fear from Justinian, but Harry had no fear left. The Dementor raised one hand, made a gesture, and told him, _Your friends will be here soon, and I have removed the spell that keeps you from disapparating._ And then the Privileged One moved toward Harry. The glow of the Patronus died, and, as always, his world became black. After over four months, he still could not hear their communications, and he fainted, invariably, when they came close.

When the Dementor went to Harry, Justinian looked away. Since he'd been put in the cell to try and keep Harry alive, he had seen this every day.

A strong arm raised Harry, his face was cleaned of beard growth, lips and nose were sealed, teeth were parted, and clamped, and the black ribbon-like tongue entered his mouth in a physical joining of the species, the wizard and the parasite. At the same time, the mental penetration started. There was no hindrance. Harry's defences had long since been battered down, and it only took seconds for the Dementor to start to feed.

Harry was very weak, but the Dementor left him alive. Maybe there'd be another chance one day, once his own kind had restored him to health. The feeding was short, but Harry was so very close to death.

When it was over, the Privileged One raised himself again, tall and black. For a long while it just looked, but with its mind and its senses, it had no eyes. Justinian made not the slightest move or sound, not wanting to draw its attention. A dead looking hand was raised, _Good-bye_, and the Dementor was gone. The door was not locked behind him, but Justinian was a slave, and never thought to check.

**x**

Beth was coming for Harry. She had her own force of aurors, the best aurors, but also the ones who had been his friends. She was insistent that he have no strangers around him. She said he was deeply soul sick, and needed to be cared for with this in mind. Alex, Simon, Grant, Brad, Anthony, and others. Those who had worked with him, those who were his friends. Others took over the castle more methodically, but Beth's team had a separate goal, the rescue, as soon as possible, of Harry Potter.

Unerringly, following the feel of him in her mind, she led them to his cell, finding it unlocked. Justinian leapt to his feet, his instinctive move was to stand over Harry, as if to defend him. Six aurors had followed her into the cell, the others left outside to drive off those Dementors that had not left the stronghold. There were still some there, but their numbers were very much diminished. The Privileged One was gone.

Beth went to him straight away, but Anthony stared, and finally asked, in a hushed voice, "Is that Harry?"

The sunken, haggard face was that of a skeleton. His hair was longer than Anthony had ever seen it, and showing beginning streaks of white. He lay on the floor, unmoving, unconscious.

It was Franz who turned to the other, and asked his name. Justinian was in a poor condition, too, as he'd had nothing to eat for a few days, and had run out of water a day ago. Justinian was taken to St. Mungo's to recover.

Beth cured Harry's broken arms, and Harry Potter was taken home.

**x**


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 4:_

Teams of nurses cared for Harry in those first critical weeks, all women, as Beth had ordered. She knew her father. Only a woman's voice could soothe his nightmares, and she thought that he must have women around him now. They had tried to find nurses whom he knew. The Ministry was using all their influence to help. There was Lorae, whom he'd taught at school, two grand-daughters, Sandra and Jennifer, and another, Lee, whom he knew less well. Will would help them lift, although Harry was so emaciated that he was not heavy.

Hermione had searched for, and found an old medical monitor that looked like a shabby red leather book. The sensor device looked just like a watch, and was worn around the wrist. The patient could be continuously monitored with this device, and not be disturbed. Harry had invented it himself, when he needed as much help as he could get as he battled illness on a previous occasion.

Harry always wore a watch on each wrist, and they were still there. For the first time, Hermione saw the reason. As she slipped his watch off to replace it with the sensor, she noticed old white scarring encircling the wrist. She didn't stop then, but as soon as he was settled, she checked the other wrist, and found the same thing. At one time he'd been tied, it appeared, and for some reason had not been able to free himself with his magic. Hermione had been his healer for more than sixty years. She wondered why she'd never known about those wounds.

Harry was still unconscious, but the monitor had a consciousness indicator, that showed that he hovered just below the line of consciousness. Ben, Hermione's son, now Healer Weasley, was with her. But there was little to do except watch and wait.

In the next few days, he scarcely moved, although he sometimes opened his eyes. His carers were not sure whether he knew where he was or not. He didn't speak, and made no response when he was spoken to. The readings on the monitor were appalling, but Hermione had seen him come back from as bad a condition before. This time, though, it was more than physical. What if he didn't want to come back?

The first indication Harry showed that he knew he was not alone was when one of his nurses was trying to feed him. Will was supporting him, and the nurse was trying to spoon some ice-cream into his mouth. Hermione had suggested ice-cream, knowing from previous experience that he might take ice-cream when he would refuse anything else. He would not cooperate, and kept looking to the side where no-one was.

Lorae was getting frustrated, he had to eat, and finally said, almost sobbing, _"Please_ Harry."

His gaze turned to her face then, and she was able to feed him.

Weeks went by. To Hermione and Ben, it was as if he made no progress at all. Still he never spoke, and seldom made any indication of recognition. Beth said that they just had to wait. That it was going to take a very long time. She and Jeremiah stayed on. Beth knew she was still needed.

They tried to shave him once, but the disturbance apparently irritated him, and to stop them, he brushed his own cheeks with his hands, and he was cleanshaven. He did it regularly after that, sometimes, it seemed, almost in his sleep.

Few people were allowed in to see him, aside from his immediate carers. A tabby cat strolled in one day, leapt onto the bed, settled herself, and started to purr. Harry raised a feeble, shaking hand, and stroked the cat. Beth was pleased. Anything to help, and she wondered if this was one of the descendants of a stray cat that had come to her own comfort once when she'd been a heart-broken child. From then on, the cat visited him often. He stroked it, and sometimes even talked to it, although he talked to no-one else.

It was not until well into March that Harry spoke to one of his carers for the first time. He was regarding Hermione who was feeling his pulse, and using a couple of different monitors to take some readings of health measures that were not shown on the red book/monitor.

"Are you dead too, then?"

Hermione jumped, but then smiled at him. "I'm not dead, and neither are you. And it's time for you to start making a bit of an effort to get better."

But Harry said, "Of course I'm dead. If I wasn't dead, Ginny and Luna wouldn't be here. Only Julie would be here. And Julie's not here, so I must be dead."

Hermione opened her mouth, and closed it again. What could she say to that? It seemed logical, and no-one had told him that Julie had refused to return.

Harry was convinced that he was dead, and nothing anyone could say would persuade him different. Most people he ignored, although occasionally thanking Will or his nurses politely when they did something for him.

He had not gained in strength, or even put on any weight, and Hermione knew that the slightest disturbance might still kill him. He spent most of his time asleep, or drifting, barely conscious. There was always a nurse with him, awake and alert. Beth had told them. He must not be allowed to have nightmares, and that they were to act straight away to soothe him if he started to fidget and mutter in his sleep.

Hermione thought that his conviction that he was dead might interfere with his recovery, but Beth told her not to worry. If he already thought that he was dead, he was less likely to make himself die. And Hermione learned for the first time how easy it would be for Harry. Beth told her. Just find the place, a gentle squeeze, and he would be dead. That Harry had known for a very long time, and that she, Beth, knew because Harry knew.

Both Hermione and Ben kept a close watch. Ben didn't understand how Harry was still alive. The Nisco readings were so appallingly bad. Hermione just reminded him that Harry was different. An LV of less than 10, for a normal person, meant death. But Harry was not a normal person, and she told him of an occasion before when he'd been very sick, when Ben had not yet been born. Harry had recovered anyway, though a full recovery had taken years.

Beth started trying to call him back to life. She thought that his conviction that he was dead was a self-protective mechanism, as what had happened to him was just too much to cope with. But it couldn't go on indefinitely.

She began to allow him more visitors, but would always stay as well. He must not be upset, even in the slightest degree. They were only ever visitors that he knew very well. She always warned them beforehand of his extreme emaciation. She didn't want tactless comments, such as the one that Tracy had made when she brought in a breakfast tray.

Harry had appeared to be asleep, and Tracy had exclaimed, "He looks like a skeleton!"

Harry had replied in a tone of irritation, "What do you expect of a dead person?"

Jimmy Carr came, made no comment on his appearance, and spoke about the horses, and especially which mares he thought they should breed from. Beth was very pleased, as Harry forgot that he was dead, and entered into the discussion.

Cissy scarcely rode any more, and Harry suggested that Jimmy speak to her about her own mare, Senorita, and the three grown up Andalusians bred from her. Maybe it would be as well to sell the young ones. They had too many horses.

"Mischief," said Jimmy. "What about Mischief?"

"Well, I'd never sell her, of course, but I can't ride her any more. What do you think?"

Harry was being perfectly normal, and so he was when two of Melissa's girls came in to tell him about the gymkhana they'd been to.

But when Lorae came to help him with his meal, he frowned at her and asked why she was not at school. And when she said that she was a nurse, and helping look after him, he said that it was silly, that she shouldn't waste her time on someone that was already dead. And maybe she was just pretending, and wasn't there at all.

He still needed everything done for him, and could not even sit up by himself, so that Will helped him a lot, and he still had four nurses working shifts. He never upset Will by claiming to be dead, only thanking him politely when Will helped him.

He was apt to ignore his nurses, though, and when Sandra rebuked him, he stared at the ceiling and said, "When you're dead, you don't have to be polite," and the redhead had a fit of giggles.

Beth was in two minds when Jebedee came to call. Would it upset him? But Harry and Jebedee had been close for years. Eventually, she showed him in, but as usual, staying herself, inconspicuous in the corner.

Jebedee greeted him, but Harry told him to go away, that he was talking to Ginny as he should be able to see. Jebedee scratched his head, and went away. Beth told him not to worry, that he always spoke to dead people when he was sick. This was the first that Jebedee knew of that, and was very surprised.

He spoke to Beth instead. The Dementors had apparently gone, and everything was peaceful again. Several of the aurors had been given medals, three different grades of the Baldo Auror Award. And every auror, from every country, had been given a special medal. It may only have taken a few months, but it had been a war, and there were casualties, and there had been bravery, and there had been acts of heroism. He had one for Harry, too, as he'd saved the lives of Aurors Paul, Heinrich and Lucas. Beth accepted it, and said that she'd put it away for him, but that right now, he was obviously not ready to think about anything to do with Dementors or wars.

Spring came, and Harry finally started to become stronger. He could sit out of bed now, for an hour or two at a time. And he no longer slept as much. Two of the nurses returned to their usual jobs, only Lee and Lorae remaining.

On a warm and windy day, Jimmy Carr came to Beth. "Two new foals! Do you think he'd like to see?"

Beth went to the window, and looked out. Sunshine might do him good.

An hour later, an old wheelchair had been unearthed, and Harry was sitting talking to some mares, admiring two spindly colts. "You've done well," he told a chestnut mare. And the mare put her head down to him and blew on his face.

Jebedee grinned broadly as he arrived, and approached the group. He paused a distance away, though, maybe Harry still wouldn't want to see him. But Harry looked up, and raised a hand in greeting, and nodded as Beth spoke to him. Beth beckoned.

Jebedee took care to stay away from difficult subjects, and spoke about the uncommon beauty of the mares and foals instead.

"She's the blood of Sheba," Harry told him. "Have I told you about Sheba?"

"Oh, yes, many times," said Jebedee. Harry was apt to be a bore about his horses.

Harry looked at him, and for the first time in a very long time, he had a grin of amusement on his face, and said, in a soothing voice, "I won't tell you again then."

Hermione came to find him, and told Will that he was to be put back to bed, that he was getting too tired. Harry made no objection. Will started to turn the wheelchair back to the house, but Harry asked him to wait a moment, and turned back to Jebedee.

"Just wanted to know, did Lucas make it back?"

Jebedee said. "They all did, they're all fine."

Harry nodded quite casually. "I sent him with the spell I use to send luggage, thought it might kill him. Glad that it didn't!"

But that night, Lee was unable to soothe his nightmare, and he woke screaming, threshing desperately against the bedclothes, and hauling himself on hands and knees to the opposite side of the room, away from her, as he sobbed in terror.

Lee retreated as it seemed that she was the object of his fears. Beth was needed before he slowly calmed down, and Will was able to lift him back into bed.

The upset didn't kill him, but again he wouldn't speak to anyone except his cat. And when Jebedee came to call, Hermione soundly rebuked him and wouldn't let him near, in spite of Jebedee's protests that it was Harry who'd brought up the subject.

Julie and Adrian were still in America. Julie knew that Harry was still very sick and found herself unable to muster the courage to see him. There had been three other survivors, and it was known what had been done to Harry. Julie was convinced that he'd be something different now, maybe he'd lost his soul. And what had she heard once? _If it can, the Dementors will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself - soulless and evil. _

But Adrian's complaints were getting more and more persistent, and finally, she made arrangements for him to go home. It was with the help of the Ministry. It seemed they couldn't help Harry Potter enough these days.

No-one told Harry. They were afraid that Julie would change her mind about allowing his son to return. He had still not asked about Julie.

As soon as he arrived at home, Adrian didn't wait for Hermione's precautionary warnings, but raced to the bedroom, and threw himself on Harry who'd been sleeping. Harry woke with a start, but the surprise was a good one, and he hugged the boy close.

Adrian was sobbing, "It's been half a whole year! And I'm seven now, and you missed my birthday!"

Harry apologised, and said that if Tracy could organise it, he'd have a birthday cake that very day, and he could have whatever he wanted as a present. But then he frowned, "But is it really May?"

Lorae, the nurse, was smiling as she waited in her chair in the corner. Harry was still never left alone, and this was the first live human he'd spoken to in several days.

Adrian had done him a lot of good, but was sent off after a while. He must not be made too tired.

So Adrian followed Jimmy Carr for the rest of the day, as Jimmy tended to horses. The two colts just born were not the only foals. But Adrian had a special request. He wanted to go to the Old Horses' Paddock, and as they petted the pampered old horses that lived peaceful lives here, he asked Jimmy about his father. He looked so old and so thin. Was he going to get better?

Jimmy pulled a brush from his pocket, and started using it on an old chestnut mare. "Of course he will," said Jimmy, in a tone of absolute confidence. "He's the boss, he can do anything!" And Adrian was reassured.

Harry, still in bed, had been staring at the ceiling. Almost for the first time since he'd been brought home, he had a request. Lorae and Will helped him into the wheelchair, as he could still only stand very briefly, and he went to his office. Lorae was planning to stay with him, he was never supposed to be left alone. But he asked for privacy, and she found herself automatically obeying. Suddenly it was as if he was the boss again, rather than a very sick patient.

It never occurred to Harry that his magic might not be there when he needed it, and his transcriber came to him, and paper. He only had to raise a hand. His wand had been with him when he'd been taken, but he still wasn't ready to think about that, and he firmly turned his mind to the problem of coaxing his wife back.

The resulting letter was a description of the trivial events that made up life at home, the small, the warm, and the comforting. The new foals, Chris's sons' show jumping triumphs, a suggestion that she herself might like to ride one of the young purebred Andalusians in shows, the cat that had adopted him, and answered to the name of Calliope, or Cally.

He realised just how much he'd let things slip. He'd only been outside that once, and then he'd been stupid and made himself sick again.

He ended with a hope that Julie had enjoyed her holiday, and a suggestion that she might like to come home again now, as Adrian was already missing her. He finished with his characteristic half-legible handwritten signature. He was already trembling with weariness, but folded the paper, and made the door open, so that he could hand it to Will, with a request to Chrissy to send it to Julie for him.

Hermione was with Lorae as they waited. Hermione always kept a watch on the monitor, and had seen that he was becoming acutely tired again. She hoped that he hadn't written that he was dead, or that Ginny and Luna and even Ron, frequently visited. That would not persuade Julie to return.

They let in Adrian often then, as he promised not to wake his father when he was sleeping. But when he woke, they went out for a short while every day, to look at the foals, talk to the riding horses, and visit the Old Horses' Paddock, which was a favourite place of Adrian's and Harry's both.

In America, at her sister's home, Julie read and re-read the letter from her husband. She started to pack. She had been silly and selfish again, and her husband needed her. She was not fooled for a moment by his claim that it was Adrian who missed her.

It was after dark when she returned, apparating to the zone in the grounds, as there was too much precision needed for the small apparation zone in the house. But her wand provided light, and she knew the path well. She was challenged as she made her way to the house, but it was only Melissa with her dog, doing her job as a security guard.

Melissa looked at her with doubt, although politely concealed. They'd all been warned that Harry was very fragile, and to take great care what they said. Melissa had never been very impressed with Julie's brains.

She needn't have worried. Julie spoke to Hermione, who was sitting in the loungeroom reading a book, Hermione introduced her to Lee, and Lee left Harry alone with his wife. Harry was sleeping, but his wife cuddled up next to him, and he turned to her.

Hermione watched the monitor in the loungeroom, thinking that she was an old lady, and was entitled to indulge her curiosity. There was the characteristic pattern of energy changes, and she knew that Julie and Harry were making love.

Beth, in the library, didn't need the monitor. She felt the joy in the air, and knew it came from Julie and from Harry. Maybe she could go home soon. Jeremiah had been getting very restless. They'd just wait for the school holidays, and then Kate could come home with them.

In the morning, Julie woke before Harry, and just looked at him. He was still so terribly thin, and his face was pale and haggard. They'd been apart so long. She stroked his hair, quite long now, as it had not been cut since the previous July, before he'd been taken. There were streaks of white.

She smiled, she thought that it would look good if he left it long. She was always annoyed when people didn't realise who he was. Long hair, streaked white, would make him look more the great wizard!

**x**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer_: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 5:_

Harry was finally beginning to recover, getting a little stronger, and looking less like a skeleton, and more like a man. He was still very weak, needing help to walk any distance, but moving around the house more independently.

Hermione had left the monitor open on the loungeroom table. It was not open to anyone, however, as it was bewitched to only show portions of the bible to anyone other than himself and his healers. But now he looked at it in annoyance and glanced at his wrist. He hadn't even noticed that he'd been wearing the sensor all this time, and he stripped it off and threw it on the table. It may have been an unobtrusive watch, but he still didn't like it.

When he saw Hermione next, he told her that he was no longer sick and didn't need nurses.

She smiled at him, and said, "So you don't think you're dead any more."

Unexpectedly, though, he hesitated. "Julie came back, I must be alive, but I think maybe bits of me are dead."

Whether dead or alive, and after consultation with Jimmy, an elderly grey pony was brought to the house for him. It was only quite small, a little fat, sedate, and called Cloud. But Harry was still very thin, and until he became stronger, he could cling to the mane, and get around a lot easier than he could on foot.

Cloud had been Simon's first pony, and the teenager watched as the sick man clambered on with the help of a mounting block, and only walked him quietly around the gardens. The last time Simon had seen Harry ride, he'd been alive with pleasure, laughing, as Mischief bucked and plunged beneath him.

The days progressed, but Harry only made very slow progress, and could not ride for long. Adrian would often ride with him on another, almost identical, and equally elderly pony, and then Jimmy took Adrian in hand and started giving more formal riding lessons, as he did for the other children living on the estate. Julie seldom rode.

Harry was sitting in a chair outside with Hermione, when, abruptly, he brought up a difficult subject. "I don't know how to come to terms with it. And until I do, bits of me are going to stay dead."

Hermione knew that he was still very weak, and although the nurses had gone, she suspected he was unstable. How did a person come to terms with a thing like that? There was a long silence, but Hermione had a great deal of wisdom. She suggested that he should concentrate on a physical recovery first, and only when he was well, think about things that were painful.

"Seal it away for a time behind an iron wall," she said, "Not forever, but until you're well enough to cope."

"You don't think that's cowardly?" he asked.

"I think it's necessary," she replied firmly.

Harry thought it was necessary too. If that time came into his mind, he was filled with an unbearable horror, and not want to be alive.

**x**

School holidays began, Kate returned from school, and she and Beth and Jeremiah set off for their own home. Beth gave Harry a hug, and told him to be very careful, and to do exactly what Hermione told him. And she, too, said what Hermione said, that he was to guard against thinking about difficult subjects, it was too early, and he was far too ill and weak still.

Harry hugged her back, hard, "I'll try, and thank you."

Beth had gone home, but Beth knew that Harry had sustained damage. Not just the obvious mental trauma, but actual physical damage deep in the mind. It may even have been what Harry referred to when he said that bits of him were dead. Every day, after Beth left, she would check on him, very briefly, finding it no hindrance that they lived on the other side of the world. It was a very subtle check, as Harry was apt to get cross and talk about privacy if he felt her in his mind_._

He would not consent to wear the watch-band/sensor any more, although Hermione and Ben wished he would. Although still very weak, he was getting around the estate on Cloud, and they were finding it more difficult to keep track of him. There were things happening again, and they didn't want him to know. The workers were warned again, be very careful with Harry. Hide the newspapers, and keep mouths shut about the problems.

It worked for a time, and Harry appeared happy enough now that Julie was with him. Julie said that he had to let Hermione take her readings whenever she wanted, and Hermione did a routine daily check. She found that he was very slowly putting on weight, and the vital LV reading was gradually climbing, although still only in the low twenties, which would be regarded as critical in a normal person. Normal for most people was 100. Normal for Harry was 294. But Harry was different.

One day, Harry slipped into Margaret Brown's office. Margaret may have been in her seventies, but still very competently ruled his wealth, although Chrissy now did the correspondence and wages. It was early, and Margaret was not there, but this was the time when the newspaper was delivered, always three copies.

When Margaret arrived a little later, he was in a comfortable conjured chair, feet on a footstool, and frowning over the Daily Prophet. A small village had been overwhelmed by a feeling cold and dark, and when the light and warmth returned, a dozen people had become very strange. There had been a lot of goods stolen. That was the muggle evidence. The Daily Prophet said that the Dementors had struck again, and that it now appeared certain that they had wizard allies.

Margaret stood at the door, a disapproving look on her face. Harry greeted her casually, flipped though the rest of the paper, noting a small article that stated that Harry Potter was making a slow recovery, and asked if she had the back issues of the last several weeks.

"Hermione and Beth said that you were not allowed to read the newspapers," she said at last.

Harry replied casually, "Margaret, who's supposed to be the boss around here?"

Margaret grunted, went to a small back office, and returned with a pile of newspapers. "Here," she said. "I don't want to be fired at my age!"

Harry smiled at her. "You're indispensable, and you know it." Margaret just grunted again.

He conjured a large table in her office, taking up most of the space, although Sambo squeezed himself underneath. And then he settled down to scan the papers. It had started a month ago, according to the newspapers, although there may have been earlier incidents that were not recognised for what they were.

"Why don't you take the papers into the loungeroom," Margaret asked him, as she edged past the table for the fifth time.

"You know why," Harry said, "Hermione'll catch me."

"_Who's _supposed to be the boss around here?" replied Margaret, taunting.

Harry looked sheepish, but he was already getting very tired, and piled up the papers again.

Margaret quickly gathered up the papers, and told him to vanish the table, as it was cluttering up her office. Harry reached for the pretend wand he'd conjured, and vanished the extra furniture. As Margaret knew, no-one else could vanish his conjures.

But when Harry stood, he was white again, and swaying, and depended heavily on his cane for balance as he left. Margaret watched him. The world of wizardry needed Harry Potter, but he didn't look up to much at the moment.

Harry, also, didn't think he was up to much, and he had to work hard at keeping his iron wall in place. There were horrors there, and he couldn't cope yet. But it seemed the world might not wait for Harry's recovery. He still had abilities that no-one else did, even now, when he was so weak and ill.

Next time that Hermione did her checks on him, he asked her if she would like to live with them permanently. Julie had given her approval, and Hermione was white-haired and thin, even though she was reasonably fit and active, and with the same sharp mind she'd always had. Harry thought that the old lady should live out her life where she could be looked after.

Julie thought it was a good idea because of Harry. The healers had told her that he would still take a very long time to be healthy again.

Hermione answered that she'd stay around for a time. Hermione thought that she, herself, was perfectly healthy, but worried that Harry was unstable. He'd been convinced that he was dead for so long, and hadn't been altogether certain that he was alive even after Julie came back. And she suspected that he still saw Ginny and Luna, although he never spoke to them now, or at least, not when anyone would hear.

Harry was reading the newspaper every day, and they'd given up trying to prevent him. The Dementor raids were becoming more frequent, but the aurors had a flying squad that was able mostly to drive them off, just as long as they heard in time. There was mention of a rash of recent prophecies, too. Vague words of a black army, and a special one, and even a mention, once, of the great wizard.

But Harry thought that prophecies were useless things, even when genuine. They were only clear after the event, and never seemed to change anything. And if they did, he presumed, they wouldn't be prophecies. Divination was no longer taught at Hogwarts.

**x**

The day of his birthday, the end of July. Hermione was doing her routine daily checks on Harry. This time, as she finished, he asked, "What about apparating?"

Hermione didn't even think about it. "Don't be silly!"

He looked mutinous, and she said a bit more, "The LV is just 25, energy levels are routinely low, you know that you're exhausted after quite a short walk on the horses, even sitting up for more than a few hours is beyond you!"

Harry was drumming his fingers against the side of the chair, not wanting to hear.

It was Julie who finished, "_And_ you're a scarecrow!"

Harry wrote a letter instead. He wanted Jebedee to tell him what was going on, but the last time Jebedee visited had been months ago. Innocent people were dying, and he had an idea. He thought that all he needed was someone who knew one of the human allies of the Dementor raiders. He didn't know if it would be accepted, though. People were sometimes rather silly about executing wizards who needed to be executed.

Jebedee arrived a couple of days later, and found Harry reading the paper, a bit awkwardly, as there was a cat asleep on his knee. Jebedee was looking harassed. "Look, I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't stay long, I'm very busy."

So Harry plunged in. "These wizard accomplices of the Dementors - if you could have them killed, would you?"

Jebedee shook his head. "We're here to uphold the law. We don't do executions."

Harry disagreed, "I've known the Ministry do a lot worse, and these men are attacking innocent people, muggles who've never hurt them. And the Dementors were never as aggressive without them."

"It's not just muggles, they attacked Hogsmeade yesterday. Luckily we got there in time. There was only one casualty, and they think she'll be all right after a time." Harry didn't ask about the casualty.

"Think about it," said Harry. "If you can find someone who knows those wizards, I can probably use their mind to find the minds of the others, and then I can kill them, just by thinking it. All you'd need is the first person to agree to let me look at their mind, and that might be hard. But if this gets any worse, it might be the best solution."

Jebedee was frowning at him. "I don't think so, but I'll make enquiries just in case. Just someone who knows them."

"As well as possible, but yes, I think so. Just someone who knows them."

Jebedee was quiet, thinking. That witch yesterday. According to the description of the auror who'd interrupted them, the Dementor had had its mouth clamped over her face. Her struggles had been getting more and more feeble, and then there'd been a brief glimpse of a dark tongue as the Dementor pulled out and sped away. This was what had been done to Harry, again and again.

Harry was keeping his mind firmly closed to Jebedee's thoughts. He still needed to protect himself. One day he might be strong enough, but not yet. And when Jebedee said. "I hear you can kill them," Jebedee saw the horrors stir in his eyes, and he made no reply.

Jebedee made his enquiries. Someone, anyone, who knew the allies personally. There was an increased cooperation between the Ministries of Magic since the brief war, and information was shared.

Finally they had the names of the allies, Bertrand and Patrick Stanthorpe, and it was thought there might be a third, but no-one knew who that was. A very big man, they said, well over six feet, blonde they thought, but no-one knew anything else. And there was a man who knew the Stanthorpes, Emil Schultz, now a German auror, who'd once been head of the English Auror Department. Harry had a history with Emil. Under orders from the Minister of the time, Emil had attacked him, to weaken him, or have him confined. Even now the intentions were not clear. But afterwards he'd resigned, and years afterward again, Harry had rescued him from the pumpkin-head curse.

No-one was told what the enquiries were for. Barbara Bancroft refused to give permission. "We're not barbarians," she said. "The men must be arrested and tried, as the law states."

**x**

The new school year began, early September as always. Harry was still very sick, certainly not ready to return to teaching. The possessions that had been left in his office had been long since packed up and returned.

Kate returned to Hogwarts, and Adrian went to the nearby muggle primary school that all Harry's children had gone to, with the exception of Beth. Adrian liked school, and seemed to have no trouble making friends.

Harry was making progress, although pitifully slow. It was like there'd just been too much taken from him. He still tried to keep his iron wall that protected him from those memories of that taking.

Hermione found him one day, trembling, looking white and very ill. The newspaper had been thrown away, and he abruptly rose and she heard him being sick in the bathroom. She sent him to bed then, and he didn't object. Later, curious, she looked in the paper and saw what had upset him. There was an interview with the survivor of the interrupted Dementor attack. A description of her teeth being forced apart, and held in that position, she didn't know how, and then there had been a tongue that snaked down her throat and that was all she remembered.

"You shouldn't have read it," she said to Harry later.

Harry still looked white. "I didn't read it - it was enough just to see what it was."

Hermione made no comment, and Harry continued. "I don't think I can get over this - maybe I should just be dead. I should have been dead, I don't know why I'm not."

This was dangerous talk, dangerous thoughts, and Hermione said firmly, "You're not dead because you're needed. You just have to not think about it for a while." Harry looked at her, and there were horrors in his eyes. But then he looked down and nodded.

The grey ponies were retired back to the Old Horses' Paddock, and both Harry and Adrian graduated to two of the Andalusian/pinto pony crosses. Beautiful little horses these, black, only about 14 hands high, but walking with an air as if the ground beneath their feet was too plebeian for such as they. Midnight and Benita. They'd won a lot of show classes, this pair. But even now, Harry could not ride or walk for long, and still found he needed to lie down for a part of each day.

He wasn't having nightmares, surprisingly, and slept at night very close to Julie. Julie was quite happy now, she thought that she had her husband back, and didn't quite realise that he lived on a knife edge.

Two weeks into the school term, there was a mass Dementor raid on Hogwarts. Euan had thought that Harry was going overboard the previous autumn when he'd taught everyone in sight the Patronus Charm, but he'd changed his mind since.

The defences worked well. The siren installed by Euan screamed, and, as drilled, every person, teacher, general staff, or student, anyone who could work the Patronus Charm, spilled out of the school, filled the air with their shields, and their protective animals, and drove off the first attack. There were repeated attacks, but the defenders were organised into shifts, and every attack was repelled. When the aurors arrived, the Dementors had gone.

Barbara Bancroft changed her mind. This was a mass attack on children. It was only that they were so well prepared that the defence had been successful. Otherwise, what would have happened?

The news of the attack on Hogwarts was not public knowledge when Jebedee arrived at Harry's place, late in the morning of the following day.

Harry was on his pony, and rode across to him. Without preliminaries, Jebedee said, "Barbara's agreed. What do you need?"

Harry didn't need to ask what it was about, but said, "What changed her mind?"

"There was an attack on Hogwarts - no casualties, but it upset her a great deal. She's got a grandchild there."

"I've got five," said Harry, although it was actually one grandchild, and four great grandchildren.

"Have you got someone who knows them?" Harry asked.

"Emil Schultz," said Jebedee, "He knows the Stanthorpes well, though not the other, if there really is another. And he's willing."

Harry paused, "Well, he's not coming here, I don't trust Emil."

"Ministry offices then? They're already sending for Emil."

Harry nodded, but looked uncomfortable. "Hermione says that I'm still not allowed to apparate, and afterwards, I'll definitely be too tired to apparate."

Jebedee looked at him more closely then. "You're still thin as a rake, I hadn't quite realised!"

Harry shrugged, "Oh, I can do the job, I think, and I've been sicker. It's just that you'll have to take me," and he pointed out, "You've done that before!"

They'd been walking slowly back to the house, Harry still on his pony. Harry was evasive when Julie asked the reason he was going to the Ministry Offices, only saying that Barbara wanted to see him. He'd been hoping to get away without Hermione seeing him, but she caught him as he slipped on his cape, and put an old wand he'd found into his pocket.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.

"Just a small job," he answered soothingly. "Jebedee'll have me back straight after."

But Hermione wasn't convinced. "You're too sick to do _any_ job."

Harry leaned forward, kissed her forehead, and said, "Sorry, Hermione, but it has to be done. I'll explain later."

Hermione knew that this time she could not boss him, and was silent. But Jebedee was hesitant now, and said, "Are you really too sick?"

Harry answered, "As I said before, it'll probably leave me very tired, but I think it has to be done, especially if they've started to attack kids - that's awful!" He was getting quite good at skating over certain facts, and kept his mind right away from just _how_ they might attack kids.

Emil was a tall man, thinner than when Harry had known him before, and his hair was more grey. Harry didn't speak about past conflicts, only explained what he had in mind, and asked whether he was willing. Barbara was there, saying that it would be cowardly to authorise two, or possibly three killings, and not at least be present. Jebedee had thought of asking Catherine to be there, but Harry said absolutely not, healers didn't like killing.

Sitting, Harry asked Emil to think very carefully about Bertrand and Patrick Stanthorpe, the allies of the Dementors, and Harry dropped his head, closed his eyes, and felt his thoughts. His audience watched, fascinated.

Emil was trying to let him do what he wanted, but without willing it, was resisting. Harry pulled himself out, and spoke to him again, explaining that he was just the avenue to get to another mind. He had no interest in Emil, himself.

Emil was calm, controlled, looking as tough as any tough auror. He had won a medal for himself in the recent war. And now he leaned back, crossed his legs as if entirely at ease, and asked if he could see Harry in private. Harry was admiring his pose of calm, knowing now that he was deeply uneasy.

It was not until they were alone that Emil tried to explain that old incident, pacing up and down the room, and speaking in an agitated voice, at first trying to justify what they'd done, and abruptly changing his mind, saying that they'd been wrong, and asking for forgiveness.

Harry leaned back in his chair, only half-listening. He was already tired, but if Emil didn't cooperate, he couldn't do the job. When Emil finally stopped, he just said that it was long in the past, and that they had a job to do.

"But I feel very bad about it, and I just wanted to explain."

Harry abruptly lost his temper, and said that it had been a treacherous act, had made him very sick for a long time, and if it would make Emil feel better, he'd give him boils!

Emil really looked at Harry for the first time. Harry was still extremely thin, and looked pale and tired, and they had not yet begun. Ashamed, he grunted, "Sorry," and this time, when Harry tried to use him to get to the Stanthorpes, there was no resistance, conscious or not.

_Bertrand Stanthorpe,_ Harry told him in his mind, as Barbara and Jebedee watched. Emil thought closely about Bertrand Stanthorpe, and, as he'd hoped, Harry was able to make the jump from the mind of Emil to the mind of a man whom he'd never met. This mind he explored. He would not hurt an innocent man. The brothers were together, and there was another. Methodically, Harry briefly explored the minds of all three, although not deeply. There were things in those minds that made him shrink.

And then, coldly, he was in the mind of the first Stanthorpe, and made the gentle squeeze of the mind that was the kill. Then the second, he killed again, and then to the third man.

The third man had seen his two companions drop, and was backing away, wand in hand, looking for the attacker. But his attacker was in his mind, concentrating totally, trembling now in his chair, hundreds of miles away. Barbara, Jebedee and Emil watched as his face showed the strain. White was feeling him, trying to resist, but not knowing how. Harry squeezed with his mind for the third time, and Harry White fell.

Harry's eyes opened, but he looked rather blindly at Jebedee, and asked politely for help going home. He was very pale, and when he stood, he swayed on his feet.

"Did you do it?" Jebedee was asking urgently.

Harry was looking around vaguely, "Killed three men - I suppose you'll want to lock me up, now, Ministry of Magic always wants to lock me up."

Barbara went to him, and hugged him, "We won't lock you up, you've saved lives today." Harry tried to smile down at her, but fainted instead.

They took him home, but he was meandering again, saying that no-one could live after that, and that he must be dead. And there was something that no-one understood. "It felt like family," he said, "He was incredibly evil, and he liked to watch as they did it, and it felt like family..."

Hermione thought that Julie might abandon him again, but she stayed with him, cuddling him all night, and holding his hand all day. He was silent now, but his eyes wandered, and once he woke screaming, hurling himself out of bed, backed up in a corner, looking around, frantic with fear, seeing horrors.

Julie just talked to him, a gentle voice that gradually penetrated his nightmare, and his eyes focussed on her. "Julie?" Shakily, he went to her, and she held him as he trembled.

The next day, he rose very early, leaving Julie in an exhausted sleep, whistled up a horse, and galloped as hard as he could across the moors. Hermione had slipped the watch/sensor on him again, when they first brought him home, and was able to say that he was not far away, but was asleep or unconscious. It took hours to find him, lying close to a stone wall, and they wouldn't have found him then, except that the bay horse beside him gave a shrill whinny when he saw the searching riders.

It seemed he might have galloped away his nightmares for a time, though, as the following day he apologised for being such an awful fool, and started acting more normally. Julie thought it was her doing. It never took much to seduce Harry, and she thought that the love-making was a panacea against the pain of whatever they'd done to him at the Ministry offices three days before.

He never told them that he had executed three men. The Ministry also kept it quiet. Condoning executions was not Barbara's usual style. Only a dozen or so aurors knew, those who'd been trying to locate the Dementors' allies, and most of those didn't believe it. To do what Harry had said he'd done was impossible.

There was one more Dementor attack, but it was disorganised, and not pressed through. Then there were no more.

**x**


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 6:_

Harry started to recover a lot more quickly, finally putting on weight, and Hermione noted that the LV was rising more rapidly. It was when it reached 100, that Harry took it as a signal that he should face what had happened. It was over a year since he'd been taken, and to all intents and purposes, he appeared fit, although, even now, he was thinner than he should have been.

But as he'd done in the past when he had difficult things to think about, he took himself to an old and forgotten hidden house in London, that had once belonged to his godfather, Sirius Black. It was hard to begin with, and even harder as he progressed. But he knew he could not shield himself forever. He had to know and understand, feel the horror so that he could overcome the horror.

It was days before he suddenly remembered that he had not been alone at what he thought was the last. And on impulse, not even realising that he was looking white and haggard again, he apparated straight into Jebedee's office, interrupting Jebedee as he concentrated on a report, and demanded whether there'd been a man with him when he'd been found.

Jebedee was still blinking at him, but finally said that yes, there'd been a man, two other survivors as well. He rummaged in a desk drawer, and handed over a book, saying that it might help. Harry vanished again.

Jebedee had a pretty good idea what he was trying to do, and when he visited a few days later, he was not very surprised to find that he'd been gone for two weeks, and was still away.

At his hidden place, Harry was reading Justinian's book. He knew a lot more about the life of a Dementor slave, and he was surprised to find that the slaves had been able to understand the communications of the Dementor perfectly easily. There was an account of his captivity, as much as the slaves knew, and there was an explanation that a few Dementors were special, and known as the Privileged Ones.

It was a very rare thing that the Dementors had done to Harry. When they 'Kissed' a victim, the victim was not normally left alive, although his body might be. Usually, when wizards were detained for continuing use, it was just their feelings and emotions that were consumed. The wizard was never used as Harry had been used. Harry learned for the first time that he was 'the special one.' It was not new to him that they would come every day. He may have been in a world of blackness when he was used, but he felt a horror, and he knew.

When Jebedee called next, Julie smiled on him, and said to come with her, and he could see what Harry was doing. Jebedee was tense as Julie backed out a car, and even more tense when she casually told him to get in. He'd travelled in Ministry cars a few times, and even muggle aeroplanes, but he thought that Julie could not possibly have mastered such an obviously dangerous method of travel! It was a gymkhana, Julie told him, and Simon, Beau, Diane and Adrian were competing. Melissa's oldest two girls were now at Hogwarts.

Harry was found in dusty jeans and casual shirt, whistling tunelessly as he brushed a beautiful grey Andalusian mare. Melissa was in impeccable riding clothes, waiting for him. Harry was a bit thin, still, but otherwise looked perfectly healthy. Jebedee relaxed. His friend was well.

He lingered, as Harry and Jimmy helped organise horses and ponies for their riders. Jebedee had never taken much notice of Harry's son, Adrian, before, but now he looked more closely at the child. He was seven, as he knew, but was small and thin for his age. He wore glasses, and had a mop of black hair. Adrian's birth mother had been Nerrissa Malfoy, and the circumstances of his conception, and his birth, had been bizarre.

But now it was just a child, bouncing around on a grey and white pony, that had an odd slash of black over his left ear and eye. And when he won a red ribbon, he couldn't wait to show it off to his parents, Julie and Harry. His real mother, Nerrissa, was dead.

Julie and Jebedee stayed for the lunch break. They had it down to a fine art, now, and Harry handed down to Jimmy and Jebedee the tables and chairs instantly and casually conjured inside the horse-box. Jebedee noticed something, and asked Harry what had happened to his wand.

"Lost," said Harry in a matter-of-fact tone. "This is one that Beth used to use."

Jebedee said nothing further then, but there was a close search made of the ancient castle that had been the stronghold of the Dementors. There were a few wands found, but none of them were Harry's. His wand becomes very important to a wizard, a part of him. When the time came, he was always buried with his wand in his hand. Harry might not need his wand to work magic, but he was no exception to the rule. Harry's wand had been important to him. It was a loss.

**x**

Jebedee might have thought that Harry was well, but some things are so awful that they can never be fully accepted. Sometimes it's just a matter of learning to live again anyway. Harry was no longer likely to go to pieces if the subject of Dementors was raised, and he now had a much clearer memory and knowledge of what had been done to him, but he avoided thinking about it when he didn't have to.

He found the address of Justinian, the former slave, and wrote to thank him. He had no desire to meet him. Justinian had gone back to his old job, working as a prison guard, though not with Dementors.

Harry was still a long way from the vigorous health that he normally enjoyed. But every day, he exercised, every day he was a little stronger. He resumed his habit of years, an hour in the morning of deep thinking, effectively meditation. It had been first used to control the nervous attacks he'd suffered from, and then later as a routine preventative against their return.

But the hour's quiet time had other value. He could deeply explore himself, his own emotions, he could try to repair some of the damage that had been done to himself, and there were external things, too. From what would be best to buy for Julie for Christmas, to a better designed rousocular. He thought that might be his next invention.

It was during one of these times that his mind fell to the executions that he'd performed. He thought that he had killed the three men who had been the allies of the Dementors. There were the two Stanthorpes, and then there was the other whose name he didn't even know. That had been the worst, and that had been the one that had somehow felt like family.

Harry had killed before, and each time, had thought it justified, moved on, and rarely given it another thought. Jebedee had told him that several of the aurors who'd been investigating the case had simply refused to believe that he'd done anything. There was no news of three men being found mysteriously dead, and his feat was obviously impossible. On the other hand, the attacks had stopped.

Harry didn't worry what others believed. He knew what he'd done - but quite suddenly he felt a doubt. He was sure that the Stanthorpes were dead, but that third one... He'd been so tired by then, and the man had been trying to fight him.

One day, he concentrated very deeply, and sought in his mind, to the remembered feel of that third man. It was difficult. It was three months ago that he'd done that job, and it was not as if he knew the man well. The last time he had made the leap from Emil to the Stanthorpes, and then to the other that had been with the Stanthorpes. He was trying very hard, and Julie saw him, and wondered what he was doing, sitting in his chair, looking strained, even sweating.

He wasn't sure, but there was something. Every day for the next week, he felt in his mind until he became more sure. He even knew where - it was Australia - so far. No wonder he'd been so hard to feel.

He had to know more. And one night, he put on some casual muggle clothes, Beth's old wand in the modified internal wand pocket of his denim jacket, concentrated very hard, and apparated to the man.

He dropped a 'Don't Notice Me' charm over himself the moment he was there. He was in someone's front yard, and quickly let himself out the gate onto the footpath. It was close to Christmas, the middle of the day in Australia, and very, very hot. He walked a little, found a tree, sat on the baked dry ground, and looked around. It was a small town, a back street. He could feel the man now, the feel of him was close and clear, and he had a strong feeling he knew the town.

Still with the 'Don't Notice Me' charm on, he walked to the main street, looking at the signs above the shops. Roma, Queensland. Close to where his old friend, Ben, had lived and died. Where there had been a woman, Michelle Hathaway, a youngish widow, who'd told him she couldn't have children. A small country town seemed an odd place for a powerful wizard to live, but the feel of the man had been as if he was weak and ill. He knew his name now, it was Harry, like his own. Harry White.

Harry found a park, and listened a while in his mind. The other Harry didn't feel him. It was only a subtle look at his surface mind - Harry was not exploring. And then he remembered the Michelle he had known. And he felt her mind, too, just her surface thoughts. She was filled with love and concern for her big son. He'd been sick for months now, a strange sort of sickness that the doctors didn't seem able to do anything about. There was a sadness, too. A sadness that she seemed accustomed to. Her husband was dead.

Harry was upset. Michelle had been one of those many women he'd enjoyed for a time, and moved on. But he always loved each one of them - not like the love he had for his wives, but it was a love all the same. And it seemed he had left her with a wizard son whom he'd never known about. Could it be someone else's, her husband's for instance? But the man had the feel of family, and he was called Harry.

He wanted to see this man. He shifted his position, and leaned against a tree on the opposite side of the street from the house where the man lived, this possible son. A few people passed by, and didn't notice him standing there, even when a dog on a lead barked at him. Inside the house, Harry White rose from his chair, and came out the front door of the small house. He was very tall, blonde, and looked as if he should have been big. Right now, though, he was very thin and pale.

Harry White looked straight at his father in spite of the charm, and froze. How had the great wizard found him? For a moment, he stared, and then, with lightning speed, went for his wand. Harry disapparated, reappearing not far away. He hadn't decided what to do. And he was filled with pain that he had nearly killed his own son, and was probably responsible for his illness. And there was the other thing - that the attempted execution was justified. Just because it was his own blood didn't mean that he was not an evil wizard.

Harry thought about another accidental child. Julia had been exceptional, and Julia had wanted power over others. He had been so worried that the beautiful girl would become an evil and dangerous Dark Witch. But she'd been killed while still a teenager. Harry had thought then that maybe he carried some sort of a bad seed, that maybe he should never have children because of that bad seed. Ginny had laughed at him, and no other of his descendants had shown any signs of great evil. Even Helmer, who'd been a troublemaker as a teenager, had been only reacting against the perceived disgrace of being muggle-born.

Harry sat a long time under a tree on the parched ground of a small town in Queensland. In the end, he rose rather stiffly to his feet, and returned home.

**x**

The previous Christmas, Harry had been a prisoner in the stronghold of the Dementors. He had not known that it was Christmas, it was only another day of despair and weakness.

This Christmas, it seemed that every one of his family visited at some time. It was often dark and gloomy outside, but the path to the house was well lit with festive lights, and Harry, these days, was welcoming. The home was warm.

Hermione was still living at Harry's place, was still well, and still said that it was just for a time. Just temporarily, Ben and Hilde's son, Hermione's grandson, was living at her own home. Just until Hermione returned. Hermione was eighty-seven.

While Hermione lived 'just temporarily' at Harry's place, he set up an office for her in a small outbuilding. At first, it was a convenient place for the workers to come for treatment of minor injuries, bruises and scratches, broken limbs that could be instantly repaired with a spell, illnesses, too. But when Harry loaned her one of the writing machines he owned, she started spending more time there.

Years before, he had given permission for Hermione to write about the unique health conditions he had suffered from, presumably a consequence of a unique physiology. He had always specified that he had to be dead before publication, but now it appeared that he would live long after Hermione was dead.

Hermione wasn't concerned if there was nothing published in her lifetime, and now she was writing about trauma produced by Dementors. One day, she had Julie bully him into sitting still while she did some very thorough checks with a small monitor that she touched to various parts of his head. She didn't come up with anything, only traces of the old damage that had left him with poor balance, and a couple of other minor problems.

Cissy was also a mediwizard, and very curious. But it was only when she pointed out to Harry that their close relationship might indicate her own vulnerability to similar conditions that he reluctantly gave his consent to her reading some of Hermione's notes. Cissy had always been in good health, but had long since made her own checks on herself. And she, too, was distinctly abnormal, with an LV of 122, and some oddities in other readings as well.

Harry started resisting the frequent checks that Hermione wanted to make. But Julie gave him his orders, and every week, he wore an annoyed look, but submitted, as Hermione took the Nisco readings and checked his weight. Every now and then, she'd also have him strip to the waist, so that she could check by eye his physical recovery, and make a few other significant readings.

There were more obvious streaks of white in his black hair now, but she could see no other sign of ageing, and she thought that even the white was a sign of trauma, rather than ageing. He'd had touches of white since he was kidnapped many years before, now there was a lot more. There were no lines on his face, and his body again looked fit and vigorous, and above all, young.

The best indicator of overall vigour was the LV measure. This reading was climbing steadily, but still a long way from his normal of 294. Harry still felt fragile, had not resumed teaching, but planned to do spell-breaking trips again as he used to, starting in January. The aurors could protect him from reporters, and Cissy wanted to have a year off. She was doing further study in techniques of pain relief, especially with regard to pain from arthritic conditions.

Harry's notoriety had increased dramatically since his ordeal at the hands of the Dementors. Justinian's book, ghost written by a well-known author, had ensured that everyone knew how he'd been used. When he was seen in public, he was stared at with morbid curiosity. Once before, he'd undergone something like this, and had courageously faced down the curiosity and the contempt. This time, he didn't think he was strong enough - maybe the Dementors had consumed all his courage. He no longer socialised, except with a few muggle friends, who didn't know anything about Dementors or wizardry. Julie loved to socialise normally, but she too, found it impossible to face the notoriety.

A rumour had spread, carefully, cunningly started by Jebedee. The whisper said that Harry Potter was back, was strong, and the Ministry had told him that castrations of rapists would be smiled upon. The practice of raping muggles, modifying memories, and leaving cuckoos in the nest, ceased.

Harry didn't hear about it for a while, and when he queried Jebedee, he was told very firmly that he was not really allowed to castrate rapists.

**x**


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 7:_

In the middle of January, Harry resumed the overseas trips he had done for years before Cissy had been able to take over. He had asked for people he knew, if it was not too much trouble, and Jebedee had given him people he knew. Even after all this time, nearly a year since he'd been rescued, Harry was not at his full strength. He was still thin, still had more frequent fits of trembling than he'd had for years, and felt fragile.

Franz in charge, grizzled grey now, and Alex, Simon, and Grant. The boys he'd known when they were twenty, were now in their late thirties.

Others he'd known were dead - Justin, Melanie, Fritz, Ken, and several others. The Auror Department was under-staffed again, but it was quiet, and there was time to renew. They'd taken on ten trainees the previous July, an unprecedented number, some of them applicants who'd been previously rejected.

Catherine stalked in last as usual, bag in hand. Harry greeted her, smiling. He'd always liked Catherine. Catherine was looking rather fierce as she regarded him, and he raised an eyebrow at her. Surely she wasn't going to start questioning him about his health now, not in front of everyone. But she only shook his hand, firmly, and said that it was good to see him looking so well. Harry relaxed.

Italy was their first destination, and they were preparing to go when Jebedee and Barbara dropped in to wish them luck. Barbara Bancroft, Minister for Magic, was round and plump, had a benign outlook on life, and had developed a real fondness for Harry Potter. She gave him a hug, and a kiss to his surprise, and told him welcome back. That there was to be a formal function on the last evening of their stay in Italy, but that he was not expected to be there. She knew that Harry planned to return to Julie every night unless he became too tired. Harry smiled, kissed her back, and thanked her.

It was rather good to be back, doing what he'd done for so long, and Harry went to meet the muggle pilot. Wizards tended to scorn muggles, though few hesitated to use their technology when it suited them. Harry didn't scorn them. He maintained that they were not inferior to wizardry, just different. He hadn't even considered them very different until he'd had to rescue some muggle pumpkin-heads, and discovered that the minds of muggles were far more different than he'd thought.

They were in Italy with an hour to spare before lunch, and Catherine announced firmly that he was to report to her in her room for a full examination. He protested, said that surely Niscos and weight would do, even threatened to go straight home, but she told him not to be so childish, and he submitted.

He sometimes thought it was the worst part of being sick, having to be put through this all the time. Harry Potter was spoiled. A lot of sick people have a lot less consideration than he was always given. It made no difference to Harry. He hated being examined, and only put up with it because he not only liked Catherine, but Catherine had the authority to cancel the work if she thought it wise. And Hermione was his dear friend, he would refuse her nothing - mostly. Ben Weasley could never rely on his cooperation, though, and he'd never given Cissy or Ben's wife, Hilde, any opportunity to look at him at all, in spite of requests. He was not a scientific study!

Catherine was unhappy. She knew that his LV was supposed to be 294, and it was a long way down. And he was still too thin. She was doubtful of his mental recovery, too. Testing, she'd made a brief mention of Dementors leaving a person drained, and he'd put on an imperturbable face, and answered casually, non-committally. But he'd had a fit of trembling, and although Catherine knew that he'd had fits of trembling for many years, and that it normally meant nothing, she was sure that it sometimes betrayed agitation. She didn't try and discuss her results with him, and he was dismissed, to his relief.

At lunch, they were enthusiastically talking Quidditch, as wizards so often did, although Catherine thought it was a bore. Harry was asked if he'd been at the Quidditch match, but he said that he couldn't go out any more, there were always too many people pestering him, especially reporters and photographers. Franz had been expecting this, and thought that their main duty this week would be to protect Harry from reporters, and from sensation seekers.

The afternoon's schedule started with five pumpkin-heads. Italy seemed to have more pumpkin-heads than anyone else, and Harry asked if the culprit had finally been taken. Two months ago, he was told. Only one of the pumpkin-heads was still alive. Oddly, it was the oldest, hit by the spell only a day after Harry had been taken by Dementors.

A transparent and yielding safety barrier was conjured, and Simon and Franz were both very alert, as rescued pumpkin-heads were unpredictable, and frequently very dangerous. Harry set to work. It was an old and a wise witch, this pumpkin-head, who had comprehended her situation, put herself into a trance, and slept, waiting for Harry Potter. If she'd known that Harry was nearly dead, in the hands of the Dementors, she would probably have gone mad and died, as the overwhelming majority of victims of the curse did. Harry was sixteen months late, but he not only rescued her, he was able to keep her calm.

It was a good omen, and the afternoon's work proceeded without incident, except that the aurors, reinforced by the Italians, had to work hard to keep away the crowd. Harry ignored the onlookers, as he always ignored those who gathered, trying to catch a glimpse of the great wizard. And now there was the gruesome thought that he'd been used by the Dementors. Was he still human? Did he still have his soul?

It was a cold January day, but hundreds of witches and wizards gathered in the square outside. They sometimes caught sight of him, although they had to look hard. Just an average sized man with a cane, usually surrounded by large, grim-faced aurors. Harry often hungered to be outside, no matter what the weather. Outside was the opposite of captivity. And he never had worried about the convenience of his bodyguards, even when they were friends.

He went off home after work finished that day. There was speculation at dinner among those who were left. Harry had been so sick. Would he still be able to work his strong magic?

It never occurred to Harry that he might not. And when, on the third day, it was needed, he treated it as if it were a matter completely routine. The patient was cured, but Harry was more tired than normal afterward, and thought that he'd best do the telepathic cure whenever possible. At least until he was fully fit.

Thursday night was to be the last night, and they were to fly home Friday morning, except for Harry, who always apparated as soon as work was finished. But as Barbara had mentioned, there was to be a formal dinner that night, and the Italians had been pressuring for the great wizard to attend. It wasn't hard to organise. Julie was tempted with the lure of a private showing of new fashions in dress robes for witches, and if Julie was coming, Barbara knew that they had Harry.

Julie and Barbara were smiling happily as they joined the team at lunch on Thursday. Madam Sandra Darke, head of the Department for International Cooperation, was also there.

It was a surprise for Harry - deliberately so. It would give him less chance to find a way to avoid it. He made a very good attempt, murmuring into Julie's ear about a small muggle restaurant close, just a short apparation to dump the bodyguards. They could have a romantic dinner, just the two of them, and then, if Julie wanted, they could come back in time for the fashions before going to bed. He was radiating sexuality, and Julie felt the familiar stirrings. But she noticed Barbara watching them, and she rapped his knuckles and told him not to be naughty.

Barbara was a bit repentant at dinner though, as she watched him fidgeting in his seat and looking at the window, quite obviously longing for escape. And then there were speeches. Harry thought he was safe from any awards from the Italians, as they'd given him one ages ago, so he didn't need to pay attention. Instead he occupied himself scribbling on a napkin instead, listing mares he had available to breed from in the spring, and considering potential sires from those in the district.

Barbara was profoundly grateful he wasn't paying attention now, and Catherine had her eye on him in some worry. The Italian Minister for Magic was talking about his ordeal at the hands of the Dementors, even going into entirely tactless details of the way that Dementors use wizards. He was beginning to be quite hoarse, and within five minutes, could only utter a strangled whisper. The laryngitis was sudden and acute, but Harry hadn't even looked up, and when there was an interval, asked Julie whether they should go for Arab or Thoroughbred this time in the line of Sheba.

Some of the English strongly suspected Harry, but the Italians knew less of his capabilities, and only criticised among themselves his obvious lack of attention. Barbara decided that she would _never _try and get him to a formal function again.

Afterward there was the fashion show, and Harry admired everything that Julie admired, and agreed that she should buy the most expensive items in the show.

**x**

The weeks went by, sometimes Julie came with Harry, but Adrian was still at home, and mostly Harry was by himself, going home every night. A few times, he made himself too tired using the strong magic. He was still not fully fit. It was taking a very long time. There were no failures. He didn't have failures.

France, and Simon and Grant were replaced by two much younger aurors, but Harry had worked with Leonard and Leopold before. He still didn't like strangers about him. This was one of the occasions that Julie had come with Harry. There had been another fashion show, which Julie adored, and spent more money. Julie was always good at spending money. But now it was afterward - an informal gathering, more party than anything else. Strictly no speeches, although Barbara was present, as was the French Minister for Magic. The story of the Italian Minister's sudden attack of laryngitis had done the rounds, and Mssr. Dubois was very amused at his enemy's discomfiture, but thought it prudent to abide by Barbara's request. No formalities, no speeches.

The French had provided a good force of aurors for protection, and the English aurors were able to merely provide the more immediate protection for Harry. Harry had very seldom thought he needed bodyguards, but had long since given up protesting. If it made the Ministry happy... And besides, he enjoyed their company. He was ignoring the bureaucrats, talking to Leonard and Leopold instead, and they grabbed Alex on the way out, and whispered in his ear. Julie came to find them, wondering what on earth they were doing. Harry hadn't been supposed to escape yet! She was roped in to do the commentary.

A half hour later, Franz looked up, as Julie walked in, a wide smile on her face, and announced that they were to have another fashion show, one that nobody would find boring. One by one, Leonard, Leopold and Alex stalked in, twirled around, each of them in one of Harry's creations. Harry could conjure some very interesting clothes - they were just a bit difficult to look at.

Leonard was in vivid purple, slashed with red and iridescent orange, and with an image of a scarlet clad Quidditch player that zoomed sickeningly round his middle now and then. Leopold was in glorious sky blue, that merged and moved into lime green, then putrid pink, then back again. He had an image too - that of a dragon, that poked its head from various spots, at least six inches projecting, hiccupped and retreated.

Alex was older, and had resisted to begin with, but had finally succumbed to Harry's persuasions, and when the tall auror appeared, he was in diagonal yellow and brown stripes, shifting to deep green and purple, that moved up and down his body, in a manner that left his audience quite dizzy, if not sick. Julie did the commentary, and did it beautifully.

The audience were in gales of laughter, forgetting that they were supposed to be dignified politicians. Most of the company wound up dressing themselves in clothing conjured by Harry after that, although some of the more talented made their own interesting clothing. Most left clothes on underneath, as everyone knew that conjured clothing could not be relied on to stay in existence for more than a short time. And when one of the French secretary's scarlet and yellow robes vanished, leaving him in sober blue underpants, it only added to the hilarity.

Catherine, Barbara and Julie were now all in Harry's clothing, even Sandra Darke had decided it would be politic to appear to join the fun, although she was too conscious of her dignity to enjoy herself fully. Harry was sitting in a chair, feet up on another, watching with a grin. Franz joined him. Harry cast him a glance, "Better than speeches!"

**x**

From time to time, Harry checked up on Harry White. His health was steadily improving, and in the middle of April, Harry joined the spectators outside a small country church. White was getting married. Harry noted what he was doing, and felt the muggle fiancée sufficiently that he could apparate to her, as well, if he needed to. White didn't see Harry, and Harry didn't stay long. He didn't like the feel of his mind, and again did not go exploring.

White was a very cruel man. He was also very goodlooking and his young wife adored him. She thought he was so considerate when she had asked that they not make love until marriage. She wanted to be a virgin until the wedding night. White had kissed her, and assured her that he would not be selfish, and if that was how she wanted it, she must have her way. While they waited, therefore, he continued with his usual practice, experienced prostitutes, who were able to take a big man without too much pain, and a rape now and then, because he loved to see the shocked agony of that first penetration.

He booked a remote place for a honeymoon, romantic, he told his little wife, but there was no phone, no easy escape, no other people, and she would have no access to the car keys.

Some men have such large genitals that it is almost a deformity. Such men need to be a lot more careful than normal when they have intercourse. White was in that category, though his penis was narrow at the tip, and for the first couple of inches, handy for penetration. Overall, though, it was very thick and long. White's new wife had a terrible introduction to sex. She didn't die. One of White's rape victims had died.

By the time their two weeks' honeymoon was up, she had lost all her spirit, and knew better than to raise her will against her husband. It was a shame that Harry Potter had not explored the mind of his son more thoroughly. He would have known then that he should have finished the job he began the previous September.

**x**

Bulgaria. The weather was getting warmer, and there was a morning tea laid on tables outside. Harry was not as well known in Bulgaria, and there was a smaller crowd of onlookers than usual. He had no sense of danger, and was relaxing, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a sandwich in another. Leopold was by his side, and Franz, too, was close. There was a buzz of comment in the crowd, but often spellbound people look extremely odd, and, although the aurors were instantly more alert than always, no-one was expecting danger. Harry was taking no notice. What were his bodyguards for, if he had to pay attention himself?

The Dementors were trying to keep their emanations down, but all the same, it was the cold that struck Harry first. He was up, backing away, staring at the two black figures, and the prisoner that they escorted. The Bulgarian Coordinator was next to them, and it was obvious that they were not under attack. Franz came to the side of Harry, who had backed against the wall, and was standing, quivering, white-faced. "It's all right," he was saying to Harry, "It's only a prisoner, they still use Dementors here."

Harry was staring at one of the Dementors. "It's him," he said, in a low, fearful voice, and suddenly he was striding forward, throwing balls of fire at the Privileged One. What was a Privileged One doing escorting a prisoner? And he knew, without knowing how, this was the one that had used him.

The other Dementor fled, but the Privileged One just slowly retreated as Harry advanced, no longer using flames, instead hurling pure magic, trying to kill. But the Privileged One barely flinched.

Franz thought that Harry had lost control, that he didn't understand that this was a useful Dementor, not a bad Dementor. And he was right, to some degree, Harry didn't think that any Dementors were useful, to him they were all foul and evil, unfit to share the Earth. Franz grabbed at Harry's arm, trying to restrain him, and Leopold conjured a Patronus, deliberately weak, just to surround them, and maybe make Harry feel safer. He was obviously terrified, and attacking because of fear, understandable, of course. But he couldn't go attacking Bulgaria's prison guards.

The prisoner suddenly realised that one of his guards was gone, and the other retreating, under attack by a berserk wizard. He turned and fled. No-one tried to stop him, still watching the great wizard who had obviously run mad. It was only when the Dementor flew away that Harry stopped, and just stood, staring at horrors, held firmly by Franz on one side and Leopold on the other.

They took Harry back to the hotel. There was no reprimand from Franz then, as Harry was in a terrible state. The rest of the day's patients were postponed.

It was not until the afternoon that Franz came to speak to him. Catherine was still with him. "You can't go attacking prison guards just because you don't like Dementors," he told Harry firmly. "The prisoner escaped and the Bulgarians are furious."

Harry was still looking as if he was in shock, and didn't even look at Franz. "It wasn't a prison guard," he said. "It was the one... Have you read that book? Justinian's book? He says they're called Privileged Ones. You can't kill them, and they're unaffected by Patronus Charms. I don't know why it was here, but I don't think it was to escort a prisoner."

Franz said slowly, "You can't know that. They all look the same."

But Harry said, in a tone of total conviction, "I know."

"What were you trying to do?" asked Franz.

"I was trying very hard to kill it," said Harry, "But you saw, you can't kill a Privileged One."

Franz argued, "In that book, he said you killed one once."

"I don't think he can be right. I tried and tried to kill them, and I couldn't. And I couldn't even make a Patronus, and when I did, right at the start, it just brushed it aside. It was a Privileged One, and it was the one that was there... and I don't know why it came." Harry's voice was shaking and he was looking at horrors again.

Catherine interrupted, saying firmly to Franz, "That's enough. You have to leave him alone, or he'll be sick again."

Quite a long way away, the Privileged One knew it was not time yet. The special one had to be fully fit, full of his unique spirit.

The Bulgarians demanded an apology, Harry refused to apologise, and stated that he would never again work in a country that used Dementors as prison guards or anything else. The Bulgarians caved in, but Harry only finished the week's work because he disliked leaving something half finished. But afterward, he told Sandra Darke - no countries that used Dementors.

When Madam Darke complained to Barbara, Barbara just said as she had before, whatever Harry Potter wants, Harry Potter gets.

The Dementor checked on Harry three more times in the next months. It could sense him from a distance, and it watched from a distance, and only came close when it knew that Harry was asleep. It kept track as Harry progressed toward fully fit.

Harry never knew it was near, and only thought that it was nightmares again that left him feeling ill and frightened. He'd always had nightmares.

**x**

When Rebecca White had been married two months, she made a carefully planned and determined attempt to escape. The punishment had been terrible, but there were no bruises, except on her soul. She knew now that her husband was a wizard. She knew now that magic existed, and stopped wondering where his money came from. With such power, he could do anything.

Rebecca would never try and escape again. Instead, she became meek and quiet, and did her best not to arouse his anger. Mostly, he ignored her, except for his use of her two or three times a day. She had hoped for just a short break the first time that her period came, but White had never seen a little blood as a hindrance to sex.

Rebecca spent her life bruised, but the bruises didn't show.

**x**


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 8:_

On Harry's birthday, the end of July, Hermione announced that he appeared fully fit, his LV reading was finally up to normal for him, LV 294, and his weight was only a touch below his normal. Harry said Good, that maybe she'd leave him alone from now on. Hermione told him sternly that he was very ungrateful, but he gave her a gentle hug, and said that he wasn't really, he knew how much she'd done for him. The thin, white-haired lady looked even more stern, and took herself to his library, always a favourite retreat.

Harry and Julie were still in the large downstairs room, which Julie had again redecorated, this time firmly as a bedroom. She said that she might as well bow to the inevitable, although Harry protested that there was not the slightest reason to think that either of them might become that sick again.

**x**

A few days later, Harry was called in to a conference. Conference Room 1, and Barbara Bancroft had organised her usual feast masquerading as an afternoon tea.

Harry was uneasy. And being presented with coffee just the way he liked it, and a slice of the most fancy cake on the table was this time only making him more uneasy. Jebedee was there, and two other senior aurors, Franz and Brad, Barbara of course, plus Madam Darke, and two more from her department. Harry didn't know these, and introductions were made. Catherine was there, too, and Harry felt her attention on him. What did she know that he didn't?

Jebedee was looking at him. Harry was wearing the same cool and expressionless face that he'd seen before when he was acutely uncomfortable. For someone who knew him so well, it was more of a betrayal than a normally worried look. He was trembling, too, he suddenly noticed. Those who knew him tended to ignore these trembling attacks, there were one or two every day, sometimes more, sometimes less, and if anyone commented, he'd only say that they meant nothing, that they were to take no notice. And after a while, people mostly took no notice. But sometimes, Jebedee thought, they did indeed mean something.

Barbara was tactfully skating around the subject to start with, but Harry was still feeling prickles of alarm. Although they were trying not to make it obvious, he still felt that the focus was on him. But they were treading very gently. Barbara was saying that they'd lived in peace with the Dementors for centuries, that many countries still used them as prison guards, that their recent actions were an aberration. But now the Dementors had been making approaches, that talk of a treaty was well advanced.

Harry listened, expressionless. There were just the final discussions to go. But there was a problem. The Dementors refused to negotiate further unless the special one was present.

"The special one?" asked one of the others. Harry thought the question was primed.

"They mean Harry," said Madam Darke.

Harry's apparent calm didn't change, and Jebedee noticed that he'd finally stopped trembling.

"No," said Harry. "It's pointless - I can't even hear when they communicate, though it seems everyone else can. I have no say in what goes in the treaty." And he rose from the table, leaving his untouched cake and his untouched coffee, handed to him just the way he liked it. "I won't do it."

Harry left the room, went home, and took a fast horse for a gallop. Somehow he didn't want the play of Mischief now.

Jebedee went to see him a couple of days later, but the family were out of the country and no-one knew where. Harry was very good at dropping out of sight when he chose, even when he had his family with him. There were no more overseas trips scheduled until September.

There was another prophecy, and this time it was brought to the attention of Barbara Bancroft, as it seemed definitely to refer to Harry Potter. _The one who conquered the Dark Lord, _and like other prophecies before it, referred vaguely to the special one, and a black army. It was not specific, and not easy to interpret, but it seemed clear that Harry Potter was not finished with the Dementors. Barbara felt a heaviness of the spirit. Harry had been through enough. What was in store for him now?

But the treaty was vitally important. It was not just Britain, it was all of Europe, and might ensure peace for centuries to come. The Germans, who dealt with them a lot, said definitely that the Dementors never lied, that they didn't know how to lie. If the Dementors made an undertaking, they would keep to that undertaking. The negotiations were still stalled. Harry Potter had to be there.

**x**

Harry made another apparation to Australia. He knew where to go now, and didn't need to apparate to White. And then he just waited until White spotted him. He thought his appearance would be a signal to White that he'd best not think of allying himself with Dementors again.

White spotted the great wizard, who straightaway vanished as he'd done before. White stared after him. He'd been reading, and knew a lot more about Harry Potter now. And as he frequently did, he went to a desk drawer and caressed a wand. The great wizard didn't know he had his wand, and White wished that he'd watched more than that once, when he'd had the chance, when the Dementors Kissed the morkon.

He dwelled on that thought. He felt stirrings, thought of Rebecca, but this time he wanted something different, and a ten year old girl found herself tied, terribly hurt, and abandoned to be found hours later. The child didn't die, but she lost a lot of blood. The injuries, of course, were not just physical.

**x**

In the middle of August, on a sunny tropical beach, Harry floundered awkwardly in deep, soft sand, trying to get to the water for a swim. His cane wasn't helping, and there were far too many muggles to risk apparating. A young man came and offered an arm.

Harry smiled gratefully. "That would be a help. I can walk fine mostly, but the soft sand's murder."

Ricky saw what he meant as they reached the firm sand, and he walked easily now toward the water, laying down his stick as he got close. Ricky was a bit puzzled as to the age of the man he'd just helped. He used a stick, and his long hair was streaked with white, and yet his body looked as youthful as his own, and a lot more muscular. He'd introduced himself. Harry, he'd said, my name's Harry.

Ricky watched as Harry swam a long way out to sea, stroking smoothly and easily. His small boy obviously wasn't worrying, now playing in shallow water, close to the beach. Ricky shivered and looked up. Had there been a sudden cold breeze?

The Privileged One meant Harry to see him. But it was only later, when Harry joined Julie at a small table outside their hotel, that Harry looked up and froze. The Dementor wasn't close, not nearly close enough to attack, and was only there a moment, and was gone. The Privileged One wanted Harry to know that he could not hide.

Harry didn't mention to Julie what he'd seen. For some reason, he'd always thought that Dementors would not be in a place that was sunny.

A week later, they were in Hong Kong. It was hot and humid. Julie loved Hong Kong. There was no better place to shop. This time, it was Adrian who nudged Harry and pointed. Again, at a distance, just hovering, and facing them. Adrian was looking up at Harry, frightened. Harry concealed his own fear, and said in a low voice, with a glance at Julie, "We'll talk about it later," and a moment later he was admiring the 'antique' that Julie had paid good money for.

Adrian was eight. Once they were alone, Harry put his wand in his hand, and started teaching him magic. Adrian was an apt student, but he was not like Beth had been. Harry could not teach Adrian the Patronus Charm. It was far too advanced for a child of Adrian's age, and Harry was annoyed with himself. Even though he'd treated it casually, Adrian was very bright, and was now more worried than a child should ever need to be.

They arrived home a few days before school was to resume. Beth and Kate were already there, Kate looking more beautiful than ever, as she prepared to go back for her seventh and final year. Harry asked her ambition, but it seemed she was undecided - whether to lead a relaxed life at her parents' island home, or to get a job at the Ministry.

"I thought I might be Minister for Magic," said the girl, radiant in her beauty. Harry blinked, but he'd known things less likely, come to pass.

When Jebedee arrived, Melissa pointed him in the direction of a walled garden that looked like it had been there forever. Harry was sitting inside, on one of the comfortable easy chairs he habitually conjured for himself wherever he was. He looked up, saw Jebedee there, and glanced at a place next to him. Another chair appeared. Jebedee wished he wouldn't do that. He could at least _pretend_ to use a wand like everyone else.

As if it was a continuation of the meeting a month ago, Harry asked, "How can there be a treaty? Humans, especially wizards, are their only sustenance. They're our natural enemy."

Jebedee told him some of the provisions of the treaty, and it still didn't sound believable to Harry.

"They still want me?" he asked Jebedee.

"They refuse to go ahead without you present. But you only have to be present. You don't have to be close, and you don't have to take part."

Harry got up from his chair, and swiftly paced a paved area, back and forth, and said, as he had before, "Personally I'd like to see them all dead. If I could, I'd obliterate the race from the universe - they're the foulest, most loathsome creatures imaginable. And I still don't understand how there can ever be peace between us, we're their natural prey. They've actually _evolved_ to feed on humans!"

Jebedee said in a deep, calm voice, in contrast to the agitation displayed by Harry, "It could mean peace for centuries. It's all of Europe, not just us, and theGermans say the Dementors don't know how to lie. They say that if the Dementors make an undertaking, they'll keep to that undertaking."

"I saw one while I was away - twice. In places where they shouldn't be. I don't believe in a treaty, and I don't want to be there. But if I don't go, they might come here and hurt my family."

Jebedee was still talking in that deep, calming voice that was one of his greatest strengths. "If you go, you'll have a couple of experienced aurors right at your side all the time, more if you want, whoever you want, and they'll make sure that none of them come near you."

Harry still gave no definite answer - not until Melissa reported seeing one, just one, hovering close to where Simon and the mare, Tamara, were practising over some jumps. The horse had shied, although Simon didn't see what had upset her. Adrian had been watching.

With old enchantments, Harry's home was still hidden - most of the Ministry staff who'd been told its whereabouts had forgotten, and anything written down always vanished after a time. But it seemed that his hidden home wasn't hidden from Dementors.

_ **x** _

Once Harry finally agreed, Jebedee talked a long time to Catherine, and to Franz. Harry had appeared to go to pieces when he saw two Dementor prison guards, but he'd only attacked one. Franz didn't know whether he'd been right when he'd said it was a particular one. The Bulgarians said that they were just prison guards, and added that their prisoner was still on the loose, although his pig tusks should have made him reasonably conspicuous. They were still annoyed.

A long way away, a middle aged man with a very large upturned moustache strolled down to the local library for his daily walk and read. He was living comfortably on the money he'd stolen, but tended to look around fearfully if there was a cold breeze.

Catherine knew that Harry was going to be terrified. How could he not be? She was convinced that anyone else would be dead or insane. The treaty was essential, and as it appeared that the Dementors were keeping track of Harry, he was not going to be able to avoid contact. He was going to have to face this ordeal.

She worked with Jebedee and Barbara to try and make it as easy as possible for him. Catherine was to be close in case she was needed, though not present, so that he wouldn't feel as if he was not trusted. He was to be constantly surrounded with five aurors, to make him feel as safe as possible. Catherine suggested that they be big men, as big as possible. That it may be a leftover from childhood, but big men can make a person feel safe. She also said that they must be men that Harry knew very well, Jebedee himself if possible.

Jebedee shook his head. His place would be at the side of Barbara. And besides, he had a false leg and was no longer fit enough to do duty as an auror.

Franz was good, Franz was big, and Harry liked and trusted him, although it had taken a while in the beginning. Then there was Grant, he was big, and he was skilled. Alex and Brad were tall, but not big, and Louis was very big, but not as fast as he should have been. The final line-up was Franz, Grant, Alex, Leonard and Leopold. The last two were very young, but Harry had been working with them for months and knew them well. Their job was to stay close to Harry, and to keep him calm if possible. Some of them had been with Beth when they'd rescued Harry from his prison cell. They didn't really expect him to be so close to Dementors and to stay calm. But he had to be there, regardless.

Final arrangements were made. The negotiations were going on in Germany, and for the negotiators, it was routine. They were no longer worried that their wands were left on a table as the Dementors insisted. There had been many meetings, a lot of progress was made, and there was never a hint of threat from the Dementors.

The overseas trips were still on hold, and this time the muggle pilot took a large group of wizards and witches to Germany for a different reason. Barbara came and sat beside Harry in the aeroplane. Harry had been staring out the window, but Barbara took his hand and squeezed it. "It's a valuable thing you're doing," she said.

But Harry said, "I don't understand a treaty. I wish that we could just exterminate the lot of them. They're not just parasites, they're foul, evil creatures."

He was shaking again, but Barbara kept his hand between both of hers, and shared her warmth.

Harry glanced at her. "I'll try not to go to pieces."

Barbara spoke in her warmest and most reassuring voice. "You've got five of Jebedee's best aurors whose only duty is to stay close to you. You don't have to be anywhere near the Dementors, certainly not close enough to feel them."

"If it's just what you say, I don't understand why they demand my presence. They must know I could never treat with them."

"They're Dementors. They're different from us. They just say that the special one has to be there or there won't be a treaty."

Harry said in a grumpy voice, "And I don't know why I'm their blessed 'special one' either."

Barbara just squeezed his hand again, and went to talk to Jebedee.

A half-dozen countries had two representatives each - England had Barbara, the Minister for Magic, and Madam Darke, Department for International Cooperation. Nearly all of the negotiators were accompanied by one or more aurors. Jebedee was with Barbara and Sandra. A bus took them to the area specified by the Dementors, as some of the negotiators were elderly and no longer apparated. Chairs and tables were already set up, and the Dementor negotiating team waited, just four, including one Privileged One.

At a distance, Harry stood watching, surrounded by his escort. Many of the negotiators from other countries were looking at him curiously. What had been done to him was common knowledge.

No-one understood why the Dementors had insisted on his presence. He'd held them all up with his earlier refusals, and there'd been threats of more Dementor raids if he was not brought to the negotiations. Some had suggested that he be brought whether willing or not. Barbara had refused to listen to those suggestions, even though Sandra Darke had put it as a way of potentially saving lives. But there were a few there who wondered whether those aurors surrounding him, were holding him against his will.

Harry appeared perfectly calm, narrowing his eyes at the Dementors, now being joined by the negotiating team. "See the one second from the left," he said to the aurors, "That's a Privileged One - a Patronus won't work against them, and I could never kill one of them."

"Dementors can't be killed!" said Grant. "Everybody knows that!"

He was ignored, and Franz asked, "Is it the one that was in Bulgaria?"

"No, it's not that one," said Harry, suddenly shaking as he realised he didn't know whether the one that was present had fed off him, or not. There had been three for a while, and two earlier, but sometimes only one. But his memory was blurred.

Alex moved closer to his side, in contact, hopefully calming him again.

Franz, too, was very close, and deliberately keeping his voice slow and relaxed. "How can you tell them apart?" he asked.

Harry answered, and although his body shook, his voice was steady. "I don't know, but according to Justinian's book, they could all tell straight away when they saw a Privileged One. I didn't know much about it before I read his book, just knew there were some that were special, some that seemed immune to magic."

Two witches came across to them then, from the other group, pointing them to chairs and tables, and that there were several pairs of omnioculars, so that their group could see what was happening and stay far enough away that they could feel entirely comfortable, and their eyes slanted to Harry, who had been the prisoner of Dementors. It would probably be a while before negotiations were concluded, and the witches would keep track, go from group to group, and let them know what was happening.

In the other group, Jebedee picked up a pair of omnioculars from the table, and casually looked around. He supposed that the Dementors felt more comfortable on this cold and rather desolate open area. It was almost like an amphitheatre, the large grassed field was in a hollow, and the negotiating area was set up on higher ground around. Still casually, he turned the omnioculars on the other group, seeing that Harry was still looking calm, although half blocked from his sight by the aurors.

Harry wasn't watching the negotiators. He was looking instead at the large area sloping gently down in front of him, like an amphitheatre. He felt a chill, and shuddered, but it was no wonder. He was where he didn't want to be, and there were Dementors. He hadn't sat down, he didn't want to sit, and Franz casually took him by his upper arm and said something in a soothing voice about the lovely autumn weather.

Harry glanced back at the other group, and suddenly asked, "What are they doing?"

He strode over to a table, and grabbed a pair of omnioculars. Disbelieving, "They're handing over their wands! What the _hell _are they handing over their wands for? Have they all run _mad_?"

He was trembling again, and only stared at one of the witches as she put on an obviously soothing voice, and said that they always did that, that negotiations could not proceed until everyone was voluntarily disarmed.

Harry ran a trembling hand through his hair, and demanded, "What about the Dementors? Who's disarming them?"

Franz was trying to reassure. "Our group doesn'thave to be unarmed. They made an exception for us, since we're not directly involved. We keep our wands!"

Harry was really upset now, and started pacing back and forth. Jebedee could see his agitation from the other group. He'd known this would happen, and wished that he'd had a say earlier. He would never have agreed to the handing over of the wands, but it was established practice, even before Britain was brought in to the negotiations. And there were only four Dementors, and as they'd been told, there had never been a hint of any aggressive action from them.

Harry abruptly wheeled back to Franz. "We should all go, just disapparate - there's something very wrong!"

Franz was still trying to reassure. "Everything's going to plan, there's been many meetings like this, this is just a final few points, and then the agreement will be made."

Harry stared at him, "I don't believe it, there's something very wrong!"

At that moment, the Privileged One dropped his magic over the whole area. No-one could disapparate now. Harry started around, he was good at feeling spells, but this one was alien, and he didn't know what had happened. No-one else felt it. The aurors thought that Harry was panicking for no reason, and while they were sympathetic, it was their job to keep him calm. They surrounded him, trying to make him feel safer. Harry was standing rigid now, terrified of something that was about to happen.

Abruptly, he spun around, looking behind them, and snapped, "Wands out!"

The authority with which he spoke had them all drawing their wands, and looking in the direction that Harry was looking. Nothing for a moment, and then a swarm of Dementors. They hurled their Patronus spells, a silver stag in the lead that was Harry's, but two of the Dementors kept coming.

Harry had stopped trembling, stood rock steady and calm, and tried very hard to kill the two Privileged Ones. They kept coming, and Harry attempted disapparation. He wasn't planning to leave his friends, he could attack from a further distance, where he would not pass out because of their closeness. But it was Dementor Magic, and he could not disapparate.

There was an uproar in the other group. Jebedee was yelling his fury, the aurors fighting to get to their wands, but the sky was now black with Dementors, and Dementors can suck away consciousness. Only elderly bureaucrats were left standing in the group of negotiators, and Sandra Darke, who was still watching, unmoving, as Harry went down.

The aurors who were his friends tried to protect him still. None of them even attempted disapparation, and when the group was still, Harry was under Franz and Alex.

The Privileged Ones retreated then, and the work of taking wands and tying up the aurors was done by other Dementors. The wizards were only tied by the wrists, not even behind their backs. Without their wands, they would be helpless.

Most of them roused fairly quickly, and got to their feet. Some tried to disapparate, in order to get help, or try a different attack, but the Dementors' Magic was effective.

The Dementors went about the business of rendering those aurors in the other group also helpless. Then the groups were herded together, and a Dementor made its communication. _We have decided to accept the terms of the special one. He wants to eradicate our species. He is to have the chance_.

The sky was black with Dementors, and someone asked disbelievingly, "How many are there?"

_All of us,_ answered the Dementor.

The other protested incredulously, "There are thousands!"

_We are all here, every one of us. The special one is to have his chance. If he succeeds, our kind will be gone_.

"If he fails?" asked Barbara, very quietly.

_ If he fails, we will use him until he dies._

A Dementor was very close to Harry, and he still lay unconscious.

**x**


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 9: _

Dementors are extremely strong, and one gathered up Harry in its arms. The aurors watched in helpless fury as his head sagged back and an arm dangled, hand half open, palm up. They'd been supposed to protect him, and they had not protected him.

_I am to be here to tell you what is happening. But first, seeing I will miss the conflict, I am to have a taste._

Jebedee was quivering in fury, "You're giving him an impossible fight, and you're going to weaken him first!"

Two Dementors flanked Jebedee, and he knew that much movement from him would provoke the action on their part that would rob him of consciousness again.

_We will weaken him very little. But the five Privileged Ones will have a taste, and then myself. His arm is to be broken so that he cannot transform to his other shape and fly away. He cannot disapparate.. Most of you have already attempted to disapparate. You cannot._

Jebedee could no longer restrain himself and lashed out with his bound wrists. The Dementors scarcely flinched, and only sucked on the air, taking away consciousness, and Jebedee sank to the ground.

Barbara had sagged onto a chair. She'd brought Harry to a trap, and now he was to return to the awful captivity they'd rescued him from.

The Dementor was holding Harry without the slightest apparent trouble. Sandra looked at him. What Happy Potter wanted, Harry Potter got, she thought. That's what she'd been told, and now he was getting what he wanted - a chance to wipe out a species. There had to be thousands. The sky was black with hovering figures. Like them all, Sandra was sure that he would be quite quickly overwhelmed, and she thought she was terribly upset by the thought. But she looked at his shut eyes, and her breath came quickly, and a tongue moistened her lips.

The Dementor that held Harry turned and conveyed him to the very centre of the amphitheatre area. Gently, tenderly, he was lowered to the ground. The Dementor stayed near. Almost ceremonially, five Privileged Ones also hovered close, evenly spaced in a circle around the unconscious body.

Witches and wizards watched, some using their omnioculars, as the first Dementor came to Harry, raised his head and shoulders, and lowered its hood. Most looked away then, but Sandra Darke and a few others watched.

_ The special one is not to be weakened,_ the spokesman Dementor commented. _Each will take only a sip_.

A pause, and the first Dementor moved back, another took its place.

_The special one has been used many times. There is no longer any braciage, and it takes little time._

Most of the group were looking sick, and no-one asked what a braciage was.

Sandra Darke was still watching closely, using her omnioculars. A shift in position gave her a better view, and she watched avidly as Harry's head was again raised and his face covered by that of a Dementor. She even caught a glimpse of a black tongue withdrawing into the face of the Dementor as its hood was readjusted.

"Why is it the tongue doesn't get bitten?" she asked, as if she was a tourist, and the Dementor a tour guide.

_ Seriators_, said the Dementor.

"What?" asked Sandra.

_ Seriators hold the teeth locked into position. The special one never wakes, but sometimes the body jerks. He cannot be allowed to bite._

Barbara was looking at Sandra, sickened. Sandra didn't know it yet, but she'd just lost her job.

The last two of the Privileged Ones took their taste, and suddenly the Dementor spokesman was gone from the watching group, and it, too, tasted the spirit of Harry.

There was a shrinking back from the spokesman as it returned. Several other Dementors were close, and many stood behind the aurors. They were not too close, though. This was a ceremony, and there had to be witnesses. The Dementors had accepted the conditions of the special one, as they saw it. It made no sense to the humans, but Dementors were different, their motives obscure. None of the other humans would be molested as long as they remained quiet.

Several of the aurors had their omnioculars on Harry now, trying to see whether he was still all right after what had been done to him.

_His arm is to be broken_, said the spokesman. _He must not be allowed to fly away._

The Dementors close to the group were having a feast. The fury emanating from the helpless aurors was food for Dementors. A Dementor went to Harry, not one of the Privileged Ones, but another.

Jebedee was up again now, but he'd learned his lesson, and only took a pair of omnioculars, and watched his friend as Harry's upper arm was gently raised, strong fingers slowly flexed, and the arm sagged, bent and helpless.

_The special one always takes a while to wake after close contact. We wait._

"Then what?" asked Jebedee, his seething fury well contained.

The Dementor felt it, of course, emotions were their sustenance. Its tones were cold and bloodless. _We hold off until he is ready, then he is allowed the opportunity to kill. _

"What if he's never ready? It's an impossible task!"

_ This is the special one, his spirit will rise to the occasion._

The group of aurors glanced at each other, a raised eyebrow, a nod, but when they tried to make a break for their wands, still visible on a table, they were quickly overwhelmed. None of the Dementors lowered their hoods, the unconscious bodies were just lifted and conveyed further away from the wands.

The Privileged Ones joined the others, hovering higher, merging with the rest of them. The black army milled around, their movements projecting excitement as they waited.

Some of the bureaucrats were old, and feeling the strain of standing for long periods. They sat in the chairs provided, still watching the centre of the amphitheatre where Harry now lay, alone. It was beginning to be indeed like a performance or a ceremony, with the participant in the centre of the ring, and the audience watching from their raised vantage point.

Jebedee jumped. It was Harry. _What's going on?_

Jebedee thought back to him._ They say they accept your terms. You're to be allowed to try and kill them. _

Harry again._ How many do I have to kill? _

And Jebedee answered, _All of them,_ and Harry felt his despairing fury as well as the words he thought.

Harry lay still, his arm hurt, and he felt a thick wall of cold all around and above. Just in case it was possible, he tried to disapparate. It would have been foolish not to try. All of them! How could he kill all of them?

The Dementor Spokesman commented. _The special one is awake, and is calling up his spirit._

"He hasn't moved, how do you know?" asked someone.

_Can you not feel? His spirit is growing_.

The Dementor moved suddenly, uncharacteristically jerky. In the air, excitement increased.

_He is to be left alone until he is ready_.

Franz murmured to Alex, very quietly, "They're giving him a chance to call up his strong magic. That's what they're calling his spirit."

Lying unmoving on the ground, Harry was calling up the strong magic that he used in his cures, and just once, had used to defend himself. There was another time, that Franz and Alex had witnessed, when he'd started to punish a man who'd hurt him. They'd been unable to intervene, as Harry looked about to burn the man to death, slowly. Even a stun spell had just bounced off. Harry had come to his senses that time, but there were at least two there to whom the task that Harry had been set did not appear quite as impossible.

Harry made no move, but the Dementors were not for a moment deceived. It always took a little while to generate the power that he knew. They gave him time. Soon he was at the centre of an unmoving maelstrom, his magic thrumming in the air, though without actual sound, seeming to crackle with light, but it was not visible. It was more intense than it had ever been. Human observers would have been fainting around him if they were close, but it never hurt himself.

"I can feel it from here," whispered Barbara.

_It is his spirit, the spirit that is unique. Hundreds will feed on it today. _

"But isn't Harry going to try and kill them?" said someone, in an incredulous tone.

_Each one that is killed has the privilege of feeling his spirit_.

Harry fixed his arm, he could afford no distraction, and the pain of a broken arm was a distraction.

_He has repaired the broken arm_, commented the Spokesman. _It was not known that he could do that. He may try and fly away now._

Harry lay on his back, just as he'd been gently put down by the Spokesman after the taste of his spirit. His eyes were slits. He didn't know that the Dementors knew exactly what he was feeling, but his magic was at a very high level now, and he'd have to sustain that level as long as he could before he went down. He thought that he should keep enough to make himself die at the very last. He had failed the last time he had attempted to die. But he was going to kill just as many as he possibly could first.

_Can you__ feel__ it?_ said the Spokesman to the group. _His spirit fills the air_.

Harry conjured a cane, and swiftly rose to his feet, head up, looking at the sky, thick with the black army of the Dementors. They still waited, as if for a further signal. Julie had thought that his mane of long, white-streaked hair would make Harry appear more the great wizard, but it was the fighting spirit that showed in his whole stance and in his air of readiness and power that showed what he was.

It never occurred to him to reach for his wand, his wand was irrelevant. He held his magic, and waited. His cane was in his left hand, he could not afford to lose his balance now, and his head was flung up, waiting. His audience forgot to pity, and watched instead with a feeling of awe. He was the great wizard.

There was a witch taking photographs. She'd been meant to be making a record of the negotiations for a peace treaty. Now she took photographs of a fighter as he stood ready to fight.

_The special one is ready, _the Dementor communicated.

A rank of around twenty Dementors swooped on Harry. They died. In groups of the same number again and again, they swooped on him and they died. The observers watched open-mouthed. Hadn't Grant said earlier that Dementors could not be killed?

The dead bodies around him were getting to be a problem, and the great wizard cast his gaze around, and they vanished. The delay had nearly cost him, and he retreated a pace as the next cohort attacked.

Hours passed. It went on and on. The sun rose higher in the sky, but was almost blotted out with the black figures all around, and the cold that they generated.

_He is getting tired, _commented the Spokesman Dementor.

"No bloody wonder," muttered Alex to Franz.

As previously arranged, lunch arrived, the group of witch caterers horrified to discover the change of agenda. The Dementors brought over the newcomers, and ordered them to set out lunch. Hardly any of the watchers ate, but a few of the foreigners did, and Sandra Darke did. Those who had brought the lunch were not allowed to leave. The newcomers joined the audience, watching, fascinated, as a lone wizard fought a species.

Harry was feeling a deep weariness in his bones, and he was dripping sweat, but the numbers looked undiminished. He wiped his forehead, set himself again, and continued to fight.

"He really does have a great spirit!" commented Barbara.

"There are too many!" said Jebedee, in groaning agony, "How can he kill them all?"

Again and again Harry had to vanish bodies. He couldn't fight when bodies were piled high around him.

The next attack was almost too soon, and one failed to die.

Harry retreated two steps, gathered himself, and hurled a killing blow at the Privileged One. The first of the five Privileged Ones was dead. But the next attack was on him, and Harry reeled, as again it seemed to come too soon. They died, but Harry was down on one knee.

Another attack - it was ceaseless. More Dementors died. Harry had forgotten that he meant to die himself before the point of exhaustion, and he was no longer thinking clearly enough to consider transforming himself into a hawk and fleeing the scene, although the black cloud of Dementors was finally beginning to thin.

"Put away the food," suddenly rapped one of the bureaucrats. It seemed to him too horrible that the courageous man they watched must soon succumb, and meantime, his audience dined! Or some of them. Not many had actually eaten. The food was put away, most of it was vanished, as was the usual practice for uneaten food.

Harry changed his tactics and spun himself around, extending his magic, killing fifty at a time, spinning around, killing more, no longer waiting for the attacks. He was getting too tired, he could not continue all day! Kill! Vanish bodies! Kill!

He was getting confused, and bodies were vanished that he had not yet killed. It probably made no difference. Somewhere in the raging battle, three more Privileged Ones died.

The Dementors around the group of observers were becoming more and more agitated, and suddenly several left the group and flew toward Harry.

"_Behind you!"_ shouted Jebedee, and Harry whirled, the Dementors died.

But then others were behind him, on top of him, and it finally seemed that he was going down.

_Jebedee!_

Jebedee heard and took it as a signal, heading as fast as he could to the table with the wands.

Jebedee had an artificial leg and was slow, but other aurors also tried now that their guard had been reduced. Three managed to reach the wands - the fastest ones, Leopold, Alex and a young German auror, Hans. Their Patronus Charms were hurled, and the three aurors attacked, pacing evenly together toward Harry, their wrists still tied, but wands raised, holding the charms that reached to Harry, and drove off the Dementors that were only barely held off from too close contact by his magic.

Harry staggered to his feet, cane in hand, and shook his head. He was so tired.

The aurors held their Charms. For moments, Harry's head was down in exhaustion, but he was standing again, and his magic still thrummed in the air - he was not finished yet.

The aurors did not go close, his magic was too strong, and hurt them. Side by side, from a little distance, wands raised, they gave him a protective shield.

The remaining Dementors held off. The sky was no longer black, and the terrible cold generated by Dementors was reduced. But he was so tired.

Without warning, a number of Dementors swooped on the aurors. Harry killed most, but he was getting less effective and one was a Privileged One. The aurors went down, and were thereafter ignored by the Dementors.

Harry had picked out the Privileged One, and kept his eyes on it as it circled. For some reason, they were giving him a reprieve. He didn't wonder why they just didn't leave, although the others did.

He wanted to kill that one, he knew within himself that it was the one, the one that had used him time and again. With all his energies, with all the strong magic he had at his command, he tried to kill the distant Privileged One. The Privileged One was hurled away as if a giant wind had taken it.

Harry was given no time to consider his triumph, as abruptly, the battle resumed, the attacks recommencing, in cohorts of twenty at a time, as they had started. It appeared that the Dementors were not flexible thinkers.

The group of observers followed every move, the aurors still waiting the slightest opportunity to fight. But the remaining guards simply sucked on the air, as they could do, and reduced the aurors to unconsciousness. Then they flew straight toward Harry.

This time there was only instinct to warn him, but they were killed, as he spun again to deal with the next attack. There was no longer time to vanish bodies, and again it was becoming a real problem, but there were getting fewer and fewer left.

_I can't miss this! _said the Spokesman Dementor, and abruptly abandoned the onlookers, joining the next attack.

There were probably less than a hundred left now, and Harry methodically looked around him, glaring furiously at groups in the air, and they fell to the ground, dead.

The spokesman was gone, and the remaining Dementors formed one group, attacked, and they died.

The end had been quick, and the elderly caterer who had reached a wand and produced a strong Patronus was not of help after all. Instead, she turned her attention to freeing the wrists of all of those still tied, belatedly helped by a few of the now redundant negotiating team.

Harry could not think. His magic still thrummed in the air, and he glared into the sky, waiting for the next attack, waiting to kill. He had to kill Dementors. All of them. It was the only thought that was left in his exhausted mind.

Using his cane, he turned himself slowly around, looking for his enemy. He had to kill.

The aurors were starting to revive, but it was Barbara who cleared a path to him, using her retrieved wand to move bodies out of her way. It was only Harry who could casually vanish quantities of large items, and to Barbara, it went against the grain to just vanish bodies, even those of Dementors.

She could not go close. The magic was still too intense, making her head hurt, even from twenty feet away. So she called to him, again and again. It seemed he didn't hear, turning now and then, glaring at the sky, alert for attacks. He was wet with sweat, his face was pale, and his teeth bared, as he battled his exhaustion.

It was Jebedee's deep voice that finally penetrated his exhaustion. "Drop the magic, Harry, it's over."

Quite slowly, Harry turned his head to Jebedee. "Over?"

"It's over," repeated Jebedee.

The feeling in the air diminished slightly. But again Harry scanned the sky. "Are you sure?"

"They're all gone, and everyone's got their wands back, so even if one or two reappear, you won't have to worry."

"You said that I had to kill them _all!"_

Jebedee gave a rather strained laugh, "I think you might have killed them all!"

The magic died down a little more. "I can't possibly have killed them all, there were too many!"

"Look at the bodies, Harry! They're piled high."

Harry looked around him, and a few score bodies vanished.

Jebedee said, laughing more easily now, "You don't have to clean up, you've done the job!"

There was still magic in the air. "I might trip on them when they come again, I have to kill them."

Barbara braved the horrible feeling of his magic, and went to him, taking his arm. "Relax," she said in her warmest tones. "It's over!"

Harry looked down at her, and the feeling of his magic died down. "I'm awfully hungry! Wouldn't mind one of your morning teas now!"

There was a heaving under some bodies close, already beginning to generate a foul smell. Leopold staggered to his feet, picked up his wand, and moved bodies from on top of Alex and Hans.

Harry was standing, swaying, depending on his cane. "Bloody hell, I'm tired," he muttered to himself. But he looked around, and his nose wrinkled. Grant was at his left side, and was holding him by the arm. Steadied by Grant, he stumbled toward the waiting group.

The three revived aurors who'd been under the bodies smelled quite bad, and Barbara ordered them to stand still before using a handy de-odorising spell. But she still said firmly that they had to shower and vanish the clothes they were in the moment they had an opportunity. Even Hans nodded at her stern words.

Harry kept going down on one knee, until Franz came and took his other arm. "I'm sorry, Harry," he was saying.

Harry wasn't hearing, concentrating on not passing out. He wanted some food! Using his strong magic always made him hungry, and he thought there couldn't be much of himself left. He'd had to go on and on so long. And just in case, he scanned the sky again, and said to Franz, "Are you _sure_ they're all gone?"

There had been conferences going on, delegations from various negotiators grouping and re-grouping. Treaties falling down didn't matter now, it seemed that one party to the negotiations was wiped out!

Leonard joined the de-odorised Leopold and Alex, and he was laughing. "What about the prisons?" he said. "The Dementors said that they were all here, every one. So who's guarding the prisons in Bulgaria, Turkey, and whoever else uses them?"

In Bulgaria, Turkey, and a few other prisons, there had been a gradual realisation that the paralysing cold and despair generated by the Dementors was gone. There were mass breakouts. But being held by Dementors was a terrible punishment, and very few of the escaped prisoners would commit more crimes.

Harry was dazed, not appearing to hear when people spoke to him. Or not until Barbara said that they'd organise a meal as soon as they got to their hotel. He focused then, "That would be good. I'm unbelievably hungry!"

It was late afternoon, but there'd been some swift action, and bread rolls and cakes waited for them. Harry started to feel a bit better, until he dropped his third bread roll, half eaten, and fainted at the table. Catherine had been watching him closely, scarcely able to believe what she'd been told. Harry hadn't noticed her and only headed straight to the food. As he'd said, he was unbelievably hungry.

Grant carried him to bed, and Catherine did a few checks. And then she checked her figures again. Energy levels were rock bottom as expected, he seemed to have lost a ridiculous amount of weight since her last check a couple of months before, and the LV had plunged to 60 from his normal of 294. Harry Potter, she was told, had probably wiped out the Dementors single-handed, she guessed that it was no wonder he was a touch drained!

Harry was smelly with sweat, and he'd been in the centre of a battleground most of the day. His clothes reeked, but Catherine cleaned and deodorised them with magic, and left them for him. He'd only brought a small kitbag, as they'd expected to be back that day. They left him, in his bed, just wearing underpants. Catherine shook her head at the way his ribs showed again. How could he lose weight so quickly?

She did not expect him to stir before morning.

**x**


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 10__: _

Two aurors kept guard outside Harry's door, letting Catherine in a couple of times to check on him. Almost straight away the LV measure had started its rise, but energy levels were still rockbottom when she checked him in the early hours of the morning.

Catherine was no longer young, and slept through the alarm that was supposed to wake her for the next check, and it was not until morning that she went back to his room.

"He's in the shower," said Grant. "Whistling very badly!"

Catherine smiled. "I might leave him until after breakfast then."

Harry was scrubbing himself. He thought he'd seldom felt so dirty. And when he saw his clothes waiting for him, he only checked the pockets for his wallet and wand, and vanished them, even the underpants. He was very glad he could conjure clothes that could be relied upon to last a while. The jeans were just basic blue denim, but the shirt was straight vibrant orange-red. If he'd really done what he thought he'd done, he was very pleased with himself.

It was two weeks short of two years since he'd been taken captive by the Dementors.

He was still tired, but again had developed a raging appetite. He staggered a little as he opened the door, finding Grant and Alex just outside. He'd known them both many years, and they treated him the same as always as he asked about breakfast. He did check something, though, just in case.

"Did I really kill Dementors yesterday, or was I dreaming?"

They assured him that he really killed Dementors. And he thanked Alex, too, hadn't Alex been one who had come to his help? But he remembered most of the battle only through a haze of exhaustion.

There were three long tables set out for breakfast. Several of the foreign negotiators were there as well, and their staff, although most of the Germans had gone home. It had been late afternoon when they'd actually finished the previous day, and some had decided, like the English, to stay the night. It had been quite exhausting being outside all day...

Catherine was there, and took note as Harry came in, swaying rather, and being helped by Alex. His face was still very pale and tired, though he appeared to be in good spirits. He saw her there, and nodded and smiled to her, but raised an eyebrow. When had she come over?

The English knew their Harry, but the others stared at him in awe and fascination. There was a new ingredient. Several were shrinking away from him in fear, almost loathing. And when three got up abruptly and hurried out the door, Harry glanced up with a shadowed look.

Sandra Darke was not far away, and filled with spite. She knew now that she'd lost her job because of Harry Potter, and now here he was eating three times as much as she ever allowed herself, and looking quite comfortable, if rather tired. It was too much for her.

"You know they Kissed you again before it started - six of them had you!"

Harry barely looked up. "Well, you know, it's a funny thing, but I don't actually feel quite as bad about that any more!"

In an even more vicious voice, Darke said, "They said there was no more _braciage,_ so that it was quick and easy - maybe something like an old whore!"

Abruptly Franz and Grant removed her from the table. This time it had affected Harry, and he wore an expressionless face and replaced the roll on the table. It was not just Darke's words, it was the hostile stares from other delegations.

He got up from the table, holding his chair as he started to stagger - he was a long way from full recovery.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter, a special breakfast for you."

A waitress was holding a beautifully presented cooked breakfast, and Harry thanked her. It would have been rude to reject it. He was fussed over, extra knife and fork laid, another serviette, and he sat and waited, smiling his appreciation. He didn't know what the muggle knew, but it seemed she'd been told to make him happy.

Again he started eating, with renewed appetite. Always before he had known instantly when his food had been poisoned or drugged, but maybe because he was still very tired, this time he had three bites before he hesitated, only touched his tongue to the next bite, and then rose from the table, trembling. And this time he betrayed his bitterness, saying to them all, "You may not like what I do, but you don't have to try and poison me!" And then he disapparated. Most people make a loud crack on apparation and disapparation. Harry had the rare ability to do it in silence, but this time there was a muffled, staggered thud.

Apparation can go badly wrong, and most witches and wizards were careful to do it only when fit and not too tired. There had been occasions when Harry had done it even though very sick, and arrived safely. But there had been other occasions when he'd ended up somewhere quite different from his intention, once in the middle of a rough sea.

Jebedee swung into action, confiscated the breakfast to have it analysed, and started bustling the others to get organised. The job of looking into the probable poisoning was left to the Germans. Harry had always been right before when he claimed his food was poisoned. But Jebedee was very worried, and wanted to get home in order to check whether Harry had arrived safely. Apparation gone wrong can lead to horrible complications. And Harry was always silent.

Harry appeared in a paddock, and had no idea where he was, except that it was not home. A herd of black bulls with long horns looked at him curiously as he got to his feet, cane in hand, and staggered to a hedge to be sick. This was the first time anyone had succeeded in poisoning him, even though it had been tried on several occasions.

He sat again, next to the hedge. It still appeared quite early in the day, so he thought he probably hadn't come far, at least not across many time zones, but he knew better than to try and apparate again.

He wasn't badly ill, he'd taken hardly any poison, but he was still very tired. He thought probably he'd been rash and stupid. Jebedee, Franz and the others were looking after him, and now he'd have to look after himself.

He didn't know what had provoked the spite of Sandra Darke, but the hostility he sensed from those others, was more serious. What had he done? He'd killed Dementors, and no-one was supposed to be able to kill Dementors. He could not have killed them all, he thought, but there had certainly been a lot of bodies. And how _were_ people going to treat him now? There had been demonstrations years ago, that he was a 'monster,' because he could do things that others couldn't do, and because he didn't appear to be ageing. Now it could get a lot worse. Unless, of course, they were grateful. They _should_ be grateful.

He pulled himself to his feet, and walked through the black fighting bulls, wearing his brilliant red shirt. They watched curiously.

There was a road close, and Harry hitched a ride into the nearest town. He always carried plenty of money on him, and was able to buy himself some more food, pleased that no-one who knew him could see him eating so much. It was a bit embarrassing, but using the strong magic always made him hungry. This time he'd used it for hours on end. And for the first time he realised just how long he'd stood in that natural amphitheatre, and killed Dementors. It had been early when he started, and late in the day when it ended.

He supposed that Darke had been telling the truth that some of them had used him, but as he said, killing such a large number did indeed make him feel better about that. He didn't know what she'd meant when she spoke about a _braciage_, but shuddered, and decided he didn't need to know. Whatever it was, it didn't appear necessary to life.

It was too early to check into a hotel, and he wasn't planning on trying to go home yet. He was far too tired. He did make a phone call, and left a message with Margaret to tell Julie he'd be home tomorrow. The town was small, but there was a library, and he thought he'd try that a while. His head was beginning to buzz with weariness again, as he read the muggle newspaper, suddenly realising halfway though the first page that it was in Spanish. He must be in Spain.

An odd looking man sitting near him shuddered as a cold draught stirred the air, and Harry looked at him curiously, and then a bit more curiously. He felt the spell, and why not? He made no indication of using magic, but a pair of pig tusks vanished, and a bushy, upturned moustache suddenly became more limp. The man put a hand to his face, incredulous with joy, thought that God had answered his prayers, and went home to cry his joy, pray his gratitude, and celebrate.

A few months later, that man married a muggle woman, who had six badly behaved children. He still thought it better than Dementor prison guards.

Harry lay his head over the newspaper on the table, and went to sleep. The library workers smiled and pointed, but no-one interfered with him, and he slept peacefully for two hours before waking, feeling refreshed.

On request, the library workers pointed him to a hotel, but there was a hairdresser on the way. And suddenly, he paused. He was going to be disobedient and Julie would be cross. He asked for a short, normal haircut. Harry had never been terribly interested in appearing 'the great wizard,' and he suspected that he might have to hide for a while anyway. He'd done something too outlandish, and someone had tried to kill him at breakfast.

Julie always told him what to do. And nearly always he did what she said. He'd even consented to have his portrait painted a few years ago by a brilliant wizard artist. It was not a success. Images in wizard portraits have their own sort of life, but instead of a portrait of an impressive and dignified great wizard, as Julie had envisaged, the image always looked uncomfortable, often blushed, and sometimes even hid behind the frame. It was not on display.

He liked his flame-red shirt, but bought himself some more underwear and jeans. He was not so good at those, and they were an uncomfortable fit.

He dozed again, after checking in to a hotel. He was rapidly getting better, it would not be long before he was fully fit again.

Jebedee and Barbara were very relieved to hear from Julie that she'd heard from him, and that he was all right. The breakfast had been analysed, and found to contain a quick acting and lethal substance. That untidy and noisy disapparation was so untypical.

Rumours were beginning, but information to most of Wizardkind was scanty.

Early the next morning, Harry conjured himself a second brilliant orange-red shirt, he liked that colour, and apparated directly into his bedroom. And even before anyone else knew that he was home, he shared a pleasurable hour with his wife.

She refrained from rebuking him about his hair, and even let him put his conjured shirt back on, to his surprise. But Julie had been very worried. At that stage, she knew little more than he'd been in some sort of fight with Dementors. But when she started to question him, she quickly found that he had other things in mind. "Tell you later," he'd said, projecting sexuality as he so well knew how to do, and then Julie had other things on her mind, too.

**x**

There'd been nearly two thousand bodies of Dementors counted, and they'd been vanishing into the atmosphere for hours before the count had been started. Harry must have vanished hundreds, too, if not thousands.

The head of Public Relations worked a long while on a statement, and it was only when approved by Barbara and Jebedee that it was released to the newspapers, three days after the event. One young reporter asked about the chances of an interview with Harry Potter. He was laughed at. "You must be joking!" There were photographs, pictures of a lone wizard surrounded by the blackness of Dementors, cape swirling, head flung back, and long hair that did indeed add to the impression of the great wizard, fighting.

As soon as the newspaper report was published, mail started flooding in. Margaret put aside her less urgent work for a while, and helped. And then Chrissy's sons, Simon and Beau, were roped in. Harry had several decades ago invented a bin that 'Howlers' were put into. It made them harmless, and they could then be read normally - if they were worth reading.

There were a lot of Howlers arriving. As Harry had been afraid, he was now a 'Monster,' and did not deserve to be in civilised society. He didn't think that anyone would actually miss the Dementors but the fact that he was capable of apparently exterminating a species, filled people with fear and hatred. They spoke about genocide, and his overweening pride and arrogance.

There were also some stiff and formal letters of protest from those countries that had used Dementors as prison guards. Chrissy always gave him a brief summary of the correspondence he received, and most was answered with courteous form letters. "Courteous acknowledgment," he casually said as Chrissy asked about the government letters.

Harry's staff was loyal, his relations with them were easy, even the children of his staff just called him Harry or Boss, and he suffered no problems with them.

He never said much about what had happened, not to his staff, and not to Julie. Harry did find out a little more from Jebedee, but still didn't believe that he could have killed them all. The quote had been in the newspaper: _We have decided to accept the terms of the special one. He wants to eradicate our species. _And they had said that if he succeeded, their kind would be gone.

Harry knew now that no-one had seen any of the Dementors leave, he knew that he had fought for more hours than seemed possible, but still could not comprehend that a species could throw themselves into extinction. And no-one had ever been able to say how they bred - or generated. A Dementor didn't seem to have a gender, and as far as he knew, there had never been immature ones spotted. Was there still a breeding colony somewhere? Were there nurseries where they kept their young? No-one knew, and it seemed that no-one had even asked the question.

There were personal thank yous to be sent, to Alex, to Leopold, and to Hans, those who had given him a reprieve when it was desperately needed. And he visited all the aurors, spending time with them. That was a thank you, too, though it wasn't spelt out.

But there were hisses in the corridors of the Ministry, and a drawing away when he came near. Side-long, fearful looks. The aurors were all right, but a lot of the others seemed to really think he was a monster.

Barbara and Jebedee told him to ignore it, and Barbara organised an afternoon tea, and invited all of those who had been there, including Catherine, but not including Sandra Darke. He was wanted to do the overseas trips again, people suffering bothersome spells never seemed to worry that it might be a monster that cured them, just as long as they were cured.

Harry was happy to do them. The aurors protected him very well from crowds, admiring or otherwise, and no reporter or photographer was ever allowed near. They tried to apologise to him again, for leading him into a trap, but as he said, one way or another, the Dementors were going to get him to do what they wanted, and mentioned the one that had been seen at his home.

Sarah Creevey was now head of the Department for International Cooperation, and Ginny Davenport was to be the Coordinator for the trips.

"Ginny?" he said. And he grinned, "Fancy little Ginny organising us!"

"You know her?" asked Barbara.

"She's my grand-daughter. Half the Davenports and Abercrombies around are my grand-children." Margaret Abercrombie, Harry's daughter, had had nine children, and three of the girls had married Davenports, who also seemed to be numerous.

Harry had been laughing and joking, genial, and was wearing his incredibly bright red shirt again, but Barbara was amused at his change of expression when Catherine stated that he had to come to her office for a checkup before the trips resumed. Catherine only looked more stern than ever, as he protested. He looked at her unyielding expression, and gave in. He was remembering an occasion when a new Ministry healer had shed pretend tears to get him to do what she wanted. He thought he preferred Catherine's frank bossiness, and she hardly ever fussed.

He was less happy a half hour later, when she pointed out that his humerus bone was bent, where he'd healed it himself, and that it would have to be re-broken and healed straight. Hermione had never known that it had been broken, and had not checked it. He hadn't noticed himself that his arm was no longer straight, although he had noticed it aching a bit.

It was a very minor thing, she told him, as he paced the floor, and a wizard who could kill several thousand Dementors with enormous courage should not be frightened of a few minutes pain.

"Pain?" he said.

Catherine was puzzled. He was making such a fuss. It was unlike him. She explained again. It would be re-broken with magic, straightened physically, and then healed. He would have a potion that would relax the muscles, and take away the pain.

"All you have to do is be a bit brave for a while."

He ran a hand through his hair, "I think all my bravery is used up."

She laughed at him, but began to understand, too. Sometimes there's just too much all at once. Maybe his courage _was_ all used up.

It was a week since the Dementors, and his weight was still a long way down, energy seemed fine, but LV was still only 145, not good for Harry. She said that they'd have to wait a couple of weeks before working again, but took him straight to St. Mungo's so that she could have the assistant she needed before breaking and re-healing his arm.

In spite of his earlier fuss, he behaved himself well enough, and when the assistant showed himself reluctant to help, refrained from saying anything. Poor young Peter wasn't so worried about him being a monster, but pulling hard and painfully on a broken arm in order to straighten it, when that arm belonged to someone who could do awful things and not even need a wand - it was a bit daunting!

The Ministry of Magic tried to counteract the backlash against Harry. There was even an award ceremony where they gave him a special medal for services to Wizardry.

They told him the intention, and he agreed to go. If they could make it so that he was accepted again, it would certainly be to the good. But at the ceremony, he could hear hissing. The culprits thought that he would not be able to tell who was doing it. And there was a last minute change of venue, to avoid the demonstrators.

The Merlin Medallion, a special award of even higher status than the Order of Merlin, first class, was tossed unceremoniously on the bed when he and Julie returned home.

"It's not good!" he said to Julie. "I don't know how bad it's going to get."

**x**

In Australia, it took a while for Harry White to learn what had happened. He didn't have much to do with the small wizarding community based in Melbourne. The wizarding community was very quiet these days, seldom even meeting. Many had left the country, and there were very few babies born to them. They were shamed. An Australian wizard had become very powerful, very evil.

When he was seen, White was treated with enormous respect, especially by those with girl children. No-one knew for sure, but young Mahoney had been rude, and now his girl had tight ropes that could not be removed from wrists and ankles, and she stared into the distance, never speaking. Some of the adults had been cursed, and no-one had been able to undo the spells. Wizard duelling was illegal in Australia, but they didn't know where White lived, and they had no-one capable of arresting him in any case.

They'd been trying for years to get Madam Diefenberger or Harry Potter to make a visit, but there were only a few patients - there were always far more in Europe. Darke had never even mentioned the requests to Sarah, and most of the spellbound patients looked too grotesque to go by muggle transport. Some managed to get to Cissy, who cured them without trouble, but most stayed grotesque.

**x**

Harry resumed his work spell-breaking, and the routine went on as if nothing had happened. If Ginny found that there were some countries that didn't want him any more, there were always plenty that did.

He stopped altogether appearing in public in his home country. Demonstrations were now large and well organised. He was a monster, and should be banished from civilised society. On those occasions when he went to Ben's office to clean up the cases where Cissy had failed, he simply apparated into the office, and disapparated from within when he finished. He may have done better facing down his detractors - never being seen was not going to change minds. But as he said to Catherine, maybe his courage was all used up.

He was not going to be chased away if he really wanted to do something, though. One day, he decided that it was time that Adrian had his own wand, and started to learn powerful, defensive magic.

He shrank from conflict these days, and disguised himself. Just a brown cape instead of the black he always wore, and pale framed glasses made a surprisingly effective change in his appearance. He could also use temporary brown hair dye, and conceal the scars on his face very effectively with make-up. These were skills he'd learned when he'd been in his twenties, and in constant danger. So many had wanted to kill him in those days, now there'd been only that one attempted poisoning just after the Dementors. Of course, he was seldom seen in public now, and his bodyguards took great care that there was no opportunity to tamper with his food or drink.

It was the inconspicuous brown-haired wizard who apparated with Adrian to Ollivanders for his first wand. The young Madam Ollivander looked disapproving as the small boy was taken in to her shop. And then she looked severely at Harry. "Oh, yes, father said that you always bought your children wands very early, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged, and said, "It's a dangerous life!"

Madam Ollivander frowned at Adrian, so like his father, even to the glasses. Several wands were tried, until finally a match was made.

Adrian smiled at Madam Ollivander. "Thank you."

She grunted, and said that she hoped that he would at least use it. She'd heard that his father never used his, and in a sour voice said that it would have been a matter for pride if it had been known that Ollivanders had sold the wand that exterminated the Dementors.

Harry was amused. He enjoyed not being either fawned upon or hissed at. He didn't tell her that his wand had been lost, that he now used a wand haphazardly picked up for Beth many years before when she'd been just a child. It might have been in Rome, he thought, or maybe Paris. He'd thought it important she formed the habit of using a wand, rather than just making magic happen as she chose. It was not safe to appear too different from the norm.

"I wouldn't go outside if I were you," warned Madam Ollivander, "Or at least not with the boy - there's another demonstration.

Harry went to the door, and looked out. Marchers with placards were moving down the alley. There was even chanting. It seemed they wanted Harry Potter to go away and never come back. Harry frowned at them.

Adrian wormed his way in front of him, and also stared. "You could turn them all into frogs," he suggested.

Harry grinned. "It's a temptation." But then he dropped his hand casually onto Adrian's shoulder, and said that they'd go visit his Grandfather Malfoy, and they disapparated from within Ollivanders.

Draco Malfoy was actually Adrian's great grandfather, the grandfather of Nerrissa Malfoy, his birth mother, who had been killed. Adrian had always known that Nerrissa was his true mother, but Harry had not burdened him with details of exactly what sort of a woman Nerrissa had been.

Draco was a great comfort to Harry. He was the same age as himself, but never appeared to change. He looked old, of course, as Harry did not, but he was straight, alert, and his white hair scarcely looked different from the white-blonde hair he'd always had.

"Aah, the Monster and the Son," he said in the sneering voice that had made him Harry's enemy through most of their school days.

Adrian sat, being very well behaved, and answering politely when Draco quizzed him about his life.

Harry was amused, though, when Adrian forgot to be nervous in front of his daunting great grandfather, and launched into a detailed description of the achievements of Clown and of Benita, and of the ribbons they won in show classes. And how he hoped to ride Pinto soon, though he was pretty old, but still fast, and extremely clever.

Harry sat relaxed in the armchair, and wondered why Draco was being so patient, even acting as if he was interested.

Draco was enjoying Adrian's absolute enthusiasm, a trait that his own family seldom showed. Sneers, snobbery, politics, and occasional frank evil were more in the line of the Malfoy family. Harry had suffered at their hands, but thought that the family had a long way more than made up for it when he and Julie had been presented with the tiny premature baby that was Adrian.

A tall blonde man came into the room. Harry stood, "Kryall," he said. "I didn't know you were back in the country."

Kryall put out his hand, "Excuse me, have we met?"

Harry still had brown hair, and had disguised his facial scars, but Draco had not been fooled for a moment. Harry extended his hand also, though with a rather mischievous grin, "Harry Potter."

Kryall jerked back his hand, and looked absolutely alarmed.

"Kryall," said Draco, in a warning tone.

"Sorry, yes… How do you do," said Kryall, and shook the extended hand mechanically.

"This is your nephew, Adrian," Harry said.

Adrian was looking at the tall man, puzzled. He wasn't acting very normal. In fact, he looked rather sick. Kryall nodded at the small boy, muttered something about having to see to... and left the room.

"Did you really wipe out the Dementors?" asked Draco, as they sat again.

"I doubt it," said Harry. "According to those with me, it was all the ones that were there, but I cannot believe they're all gone."

The Privileged One was very weakened, a condition foreign to Dementors who were only ever alive or not alive. It had always been that a Dementor could feel the rest of its race. It was a part of its knowing, a part of its being. A Dementor was never alone, as a human can be alone. But now this one was alone.

The Privileged One, the first one that had used the special one, that had been singled out as one that Harry had most wanted to kill, had been hurled a very long way, and had taken days to discover that it was still alive. There was a big difference in its consciousness. The rest of its kind were gone. This was the sole survivor of its species.

**x**


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 11:_

In early November, Ginny and her husband invited Harry and Julie to a party, but the party was to be large, and they declined. Too often, even at private functions, they were subject to hissing, quiet but vicious hissing. The ones doing it thought that he wouldn't know where it was coming from, but Harry always knew. He didn't fight. Instead, he stopped socialising, and Julie had never been a fighter.

A few times, too, there'd been sudden blasts of a certain piece of music. A long time in the past, he'd been conditioned to connect that music with torture, and it was widely known. He wasn't sick in front of everyone any more, when he was attacked like that, but still an alarm would vibrate through his body, and then he'd tremble for a long time, something that he seemed quite unable to control.

Adrian was little affected by the backlash, as he went to a muggle school, and they didn't know that his father was a monster who had committed genocide. Maybe by the time Adrian went to Hogwarts, it wouldn't be so bad.

Overseas it was much better. There were hardly ever problems on Harry's trips. Ginny consulted with Julie, and a special three week trip was arranged. Julie and Adrian were also to come, taking Adrian out of school. He was very bright, and would have no trouble catching up. Sweden, which Harry always liked, Austria and Switzerland. There would be snow, and there would be touring, and there would be an opportunity for winter sports.

Julie and Adrian were alive with enthusiasm, although Harry was less happy than they thought he would be. They didn't realise how hard he found it to walk when it was slippery underfoot.

They had six aurors, and there were an extra two to join them in Switzerland. Sweden and Austria always swamped them with extra protection, but Switzerland didn't. There were two freshly qualified aurors going this time, although all the others were experienced. Patrick was slightly built, and had black hair. His movements were quick, as if he lived at a higher tempo than most. His best friend was Frederick, who was solid, square built, though not particularly tall, and sandy haired. They were twenty.

Harry greeted the gathering with pleasure. Franz was in charge again, and others were there whom he knew and liked. Jebedee and Barbara came to see them off, and Barbara said she might see them when she came over to Austria in a couple of weeks.

Harry eyed her with apprehension - not one of those dammed formal dinners, he hoped! Barbara gave him his hug and a kiss - he'd come to expect that now, and was no longer so surprised. It was good. Not only did he very much like the short, round woman, it meant that the Ministry was not currently his enemy, though he knew many of those who worked there, were. There was always hissing in the corridors as he passed. He never confronted anyone. He thought that that day with the Dementors was enough fighting for a life-time. He fully planned never to be brave again!

Adrian was painfully excited, and was having to restrain himself from jumping up and down. A big boy of eight had to have some dignity! His favourite possession was his new wand, but underage magic was very much frowned upon by the Ministry, and it was prudently left at home.

An amicable arrangement had been made this trip - Harry was to be paid less to make up for the extra expenses of having his family along. Everyone was looking forward to the three weeks. It was like a holiday, even for those who were working.

The work was light, and when they travelled the wintry streets, it was usually in a warm bus. The shopping centres were kept cosy, and Julie fell in love with the colourful muggle jumpers that seemed to be the vogue that year. She bought them about three each.

Harry very much liked them, too. It was very rare that his tastes coincided with Julie's - or anyone else's. He bought one for every single one of his staff, even including old John's widow, Jesse, tapped the large package with his wand, and it appeared in the store-room.

They had the same hotel as always, and Catherine made a point of herself going swimming when she knew that the family were in the heated, indoor pool. She knew that Harry was still a bit underweight, from when she'd done her readings at the beginning of the week, but was pleased to see that the LV was almost back up to his normal.

She'd wanted to ask him to strip to the waist, to do a more thorough examination, but he'd been cross, and she'd let him go. But now she checked him over more subtly, as he played and laughed with his son. Certainly ribs still showed, but he looked very fit, and swam fast and smoothly when he started lapping the pool. A couple of muggle women watched him with distinct interest, but Julie noticed them watching, and her body language indicated firmly that Harry was _her_ man.

Catherine watched the byplay with a smile. Harry didn't appear to notice, but you couldn't always tell with Harry.

One of the Swedish bodyguards watching over them, quite unnecessarily, Harry thought, was his own illegitimate son, Helmer Roos. Harry hadn't known of his existence until Helmer was sixteen. He made a point of introducing Adrian to him. Helmer was in his late thirties, but he and Adrian were half-brothers, and should know each other.

Julie, Harry and Adrian joined Helmer and his family for dinner that evening. Helmer had two sons, of five and six, and Harry made friends with these grandchildren. It seemed he had such a large family now.

Saturday morning, the team boarded a warm bus for the trip to Austria.

Saturday morning in Diagon Alley, a great number of Harry's large family confronted the demonstrators as they made their daily noisy demands that Harry Potter be evicted from Great Britain. Aurors watched, and did not interfere, as individuals were picked out and challenged to a duel by Abercrombies, by Davenports, by Bournes, by Parkers, and by two Potters - this was the Potter Clan, although hardly any actually went by the surname. And every one of Harry's descendants had a considerable measure of fighting spirit.

The demonstrators protested to the aurors - they should keep the peace. The aurors said that it was mostly the demonstrators that were breaking it, and Paul, Lucas and Heinrich watched in pleasure as Harry's detractors were downed one by one. More aurors turned up. Duelling was perfectly legal, as they pointed out, and they were treating it as a spectator sport.

It wasn't only wizard duelling, a few of the redheaded descendants of Harry and Ginny were having fist fights instead. Harry hadn't made it fashionable exactly, but his point of view - that it was less barbaric than wizard duelling, was beginning to gain some credence.

The demonstrations ceased. The talk didn't. A strong swell of real resentment was growing, and the Ministry was feeling the pressure.

In Austria, the team checked in to the hotel, and Alex talked Harry into conjuring dragons in the air, as he used to do. Even humourless Franz laughed in pleasure as the images that looked so real, performed for the aurors, controlled by their wands. Julie and Adrian joined in, and Simon was sure that Harry was cheating, when Adrian's dragon chased his own around the room, and finally had it bailed up, cowering in a corner and whimpering. Julie's seemed to be unnaturally successful, too.

Harry was laughing, his face vivid with life. Franz, Alex and Simon had all been in the rescue party that had picked him up from the Dementor stronghold, and Harry looked up at Alex, startled, when a clear picture of a skull-like white face came to him. He didn't intend to hear what people thought, but when it was strong and clear and on the surface of their mind, he sometimes did. He hardly ever betrayed himself, as he did this time.

They both briefly reddened, but Harry had to watch, or the dragons became lifeless and vanished from the air. And Alex forgot that Harry might have seen his thoughts when Tina's dragon gave a judo kick to Adrian's, which flipped over on its back, waving its legs in the air, and looking most unfearsome. Harry had always been good at playing...

Big Louis was one of the watchers, his arm around his wife, small Tracy. Louis and Tracy had been assigned to stay with Julie, while Harry worked. As Julie's tastes coincided very well with Tracy's, they were having a wonderful time.

Harry bore a few bruises, though. Icy and sometimes snowy footpaths were difficult for him to cope with, and he now always found a helping hand on his arm when he tried to walk outdoors. Even Patrick and Fred lost their shyness after the third time they saw him slip and end up on the ground, once with a particularly vile swear word followed by a guilty look at his wife. It made him seem very human.

Monday, Harry called up his strong magic, three times, to cure difficult clients. Patrick nearly fainted the first time, and organised a swap. They'd been told that it affected some people more than others, and that it was not a matter for shame. Patrick was ashamed to have to ask for a change of duties, but it would be worse to faint. Catherine was so accustomed to it that she watched quite unmoved.

She checked him that evening, as he seemed more subdued than normal, and he frowned at her, as he almost invariably did when she stated that he had to report to her room for a check. She rarely discussed her results with him, but this time she announced that he was fully fit, except that he was still too thin. He shrugged, he knew he was fit, and he reckoned he was always too thin. He'd been told that all his life.

He picked up a newspaper the following day. It was in German, which he could read quite well. There was a story about the great wizard, currently in Austria, where he was doing valuable work. There was a reference to his current unpopularity in his own country, too, 'Understandable but shortsighted,' an editorial stated. Harry was disliking the talk of him being a monster more and more - it was not like he'd had any choice! He recognised that it was his abilities more than his action that had led to this, but it was hard to be discreet if the choice was being used again and again by Dementors.

The week proceeded normally, and not for the first time, Harry wondered how Julie could find so many things to spend money on. It was lucky he was a rich man! With the approval of Franz, Louis took Adrian on excursions more to his taste than shopping, while Tracy stayed with Julie. They'd become firm friends, big, burly Louis and small Adrian. And if Louis sometimes became uncharacteristically philosophical about traumatic events having unexpected benefits, he never shared his thoughts with the boy who looked so much like his father.

Wednesday, on Adrian's request, they found a bookshop that stocked books in English, as well as in several other languages. Conspicuous in a pile near the door of the shop was a book about Harry Potter fighting the Dementors. Adrian couldn't read German, but when he saw his father's picture on the front cover, he bought it anyway. Louis bought one, too. He could read German, and so could Franz, of course, since he'd been German. He didn't think any of the others could.

That evening, Harry was at ease in an armchair, his feet on a conjured footstool. There was always some sort of sitting room or loungeroom organised for the private use of the group, and this time it was quite large.

Tracy and Julie had gone to a show, but Grant was also in the room, reading. Another auror was outside the door, on guard. Even in this safe place, Harry was very well protected. Adrian was in a bedroom next to Julie and Harry's, and Simon watched his door. There would be a second auror in the passage way when Harry and Julie went to bed.

"Bloody hell!" Harry exclaimed, making Grant jump.

"What?"

"You bastards got to have lunch, and didn't even keep any for me!I had to wait till we got to the hotel!"

"What?" said Grant, confused.

Harry showed him the cover of the book. "The Dementors. You wouldn't _believe_ how hungry I was, and you didn't keep any for me!"

Grant was in hysterics, as Harry watched, confused.

Finally, Grant choked out, "We were convinced you couldn't win! Everyone was raging, furious, and if we did anything, the Dementors would just make us pass out!"

A half grin started on Harry's face, as Grant continued. "No-one ate, and after a while, someone said they had to pack it up. No doubt if we'd known you'd end up alive and hungry, someone might have kept you a sandwich!"

Friday night, as threatened, Barbara joined them, and dinner that night included Swedish bureaucrats, as well as Sarah Creevey, in her new role as head of the Department for International Cooperation. She was looking a bit harassed, though, and when Harry talked to her a while, she said that it was because of the Howlers. She was always being blasted by enormously magnified voices, and then, of course, sometimes they were not opened in time, and would start a fire.

"Poor Sarah" said Harry. "I'll send you a Howler Bin."

"Don't be silly, you can't just put a Howler in a bin!"

"This is a bin I made for myself years ago - they make the Howler like an ordinary letter, and if you want to, you can read it then."

Sarah was very pleased, and told Barbara, who instantly requested one, too, as she was also having trouble.

"Why are you having so much trouble, anyway?" Harry asked innocently.

The pair looked at each other, and Harry suddenly understood. "Because of the Monster, isn't it?"

Barbara said soothingly, as Harry was looking unhappy, "It'll die down."

Harry stared at the wall. "I don't think it will this time. If it had been anyone but you as Minister, I'd probably already be driven out." He changed the subject. "Which are the last two countries we go to?" he asked Sarah. He was to finish after that, and resume teaching at Hogwarts. The arrangements had been made before the Dementor fight, and Harry had taken care since to provide Euan with no opportunity to change his mind without appearing thoroughly rude.

In the kitchen, two of Sweden's aurors were alertly watching the food preparations. There had been a scare the previous night, but the suspect had escaped, and there was no proof that anything had actually been attempted. Their suspicions were passed on to Franz, and he told the other aurors. Harry wasn't told, it was the job of the aurors to keep the family safe, and this was just part of the job.

That weekend was an activity right after Harry's heart. No-one could ski, but there was sledding, there were little Snowcats to drive, and there was a Bobsleigh, available for tourists. Harry watched a few times, alert anticipation in his stance.

Franz raised his eyes to the sky. He knew what was coming, and they had no authority to stop Harry doing anything he wanted, even when it did appear highly dangerous. Julie watched and didn't interfere. She had to let Harry be himself. Adrian was told very firmly, though, that he was absolutely not allowed.

Beth made her daily check of him just as he descended the runway for the first time, and felt his overwhelming exhilaration and frank joy, as he flattened himself in the little sled and reached colossal speeds. Half a world away, she smiled at his joy. No-one else threw themselves into play like this.

Patrick and Fred both were lured in, though Patrick got off after the first descent, looking ill, and swearing he'd never do such a thing again. Harry did it time and again, sometimes apparating across a slippery area, as he made his way back to the starting point, with a guilty glance around to make sure that no muggles were watching.

The attention of a sole Dementor was caught. There was a unique spirit that filled the air. It was the special one, and the Dementor knew that the special one was as full of his spirit as he'd been over two years ago when it had had the privilege of breaking down the braciage and feeding to repletion. Now, again, the special one was ready to be used. The Dementor did not go close. It had sensed the spirit from a long way away.

Harry was not alerted, the sense of danger that had protected him so often didn't seem to work as well any more.

A Dementor has a cold intelligence, and it made its plans. Maybe the ecstasy of feeding from the special one would fill the void left by the absence of all the others. Afterward, the Privileged One would go to join the rest of its species. The special one would be left alive_._

**x**

Harry finished the book a few days later. He'd been a bit slow, as German was not his native language. Franz had finished his already, although Louis was still struggling with his. Julie didn't even know about it. Neither Harry nor Adrian nor any of the aurors had happened to mention it.

They were in Switzerland, and Harry was leaning against the wall and looking in the direction of the small crowd which had gathered. They were being kept well back. But some were dressed as Dementors, and several bore placards. Tina and Alex were not far away, alert but shivering in the cold, and wishing that Harry would go back inside. Franz was beside him.

"What do you think, Franz," asked Harry. "Could they_ possibly_ all be gone?"

Franz answered, "You didn't hear when the Dementor spoke. It said they were all there, every single one of them, and its voice somehow made you believe exactly what it said was true."

Harry mused, "There's been not a single sighting since, that I've heard of."

Franz didn't contradict him. As far as he knew, the Dementors were gone.

But abruptly Harry declared. "No! I don't believe it! According to the Germans, the Dementors don't know how to lie, but the whole exercise of the peace treaty was a deceit."

"None of them went back to the prisons, and that's how they've been feeding for centuries."

Harry had developed a mannerism over the past months, a slow and careful scan of the sky, at the same time trying to extend his senses and feel for their presence. He thought that surely he would be able to feel if one was close.

The talk of Dementors reminded him, and he went to check on Harry White. He wasn't in Roma, and Harry had to feel the mind, just enough to apparate to him. White was in Norway, he saw Harry Potter and went for his wand, but the great wizard was already gone. But White now knew that he could be found wherever he went. Any further plans would have to take that into consideration.

**x**

The Dementor needed human help. Once it had the special one in its power, it wanted to take as much as it could of that unique spirit, but it also wanted the special one to live again, afterward. Its motives were obscure, and unusual for its species.

Harry would need instant help available as soon as the Dementor finished with him. There would not be much left. It planned to stop feeding at the very last point possible, and leave the morkon with life - but he would be barely alive.

The Dementor was accustomed to dealing with Germans. Threats were required, and even a demonstration. The German Minister for Magic found himself in a Dementor's embrace, fully conscious. A Privileged One could damp down its emanations when it chose. Some preferred their victims struggling. There was a flexible softness over the German's face, covering his nose and mouth. His struggles were disregarded, teeth were parted, and clamped, and a black ribbon tongue snaked down his throat. He knew helplessness and terror, but the Dementor withdrew, not making the mental penetration that would drain the spirit. It was only a demonstration.

It had to return for an answer, as the man was left in a state of hysterical terror, unable to comprehend that he'd been freed. An auror close by had been rendered helpless, but was able to listen, and to note the threats and the terms. A taking every day, starting with the Minister and his family, unless the special one was delivered into its power, and then, after using the special one, it would leave, and join the rest of its kind.

The auror made an effort, and put his query. It was not only his Minister who had felt a horror. The rest of its kind? Were there more then?

_My kind are all dead. I am the sole survivor_, communicated the Dementor.

Arrangements were made. It took some planning, some organisation.

The German Minister felt sickened. It had to be done, and it would be dishonourable to leave someone else to give the orders and make the decisions. Afterwards, he would resign. The German aurors were grim, but they knew, too.

Only a senior auror called Emil had strenuously objected, and had been under house arrest since. Emil had tried to communicate telepathically and by more normal means with Harry. He had not succeeded.

The German aurors proceeded with their plans. It had to be done. The Dementor said that it was the sole survivor, and it had been immune to Patronus Charms. The great wizard had not been able to kill it. It could do what it wanted. And it had said that all the rest were gone, and that it, too, would go just as soon as it had its way. It had to be done...

Harry finished the last couple of weeks work, and the overseas visits ceased for the time being. Cissy would resume the trips in January, while Harry started again doing three days a week at Hogwarts. As previously, and if it was close enough, he would make a quick trip to join Cissy's team on a Thursday or Friday, and clean up whatever she'd not been able to cope with. Usually there'd be a few.

**x**


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 12:_

It was two weeks before Christmas. At an indoor arena, Harry gave a last brushing to Beau's mount, a tall chestnut gelding called Elliot. Tamara stood behind him, nudging him now and then until he turned and gave her some attention too. They were both of the line of Sheba, and some very high class horses had gone into their breeding since. Simon and Beau were competing in a big show jumping event.

Beth made her brief daily check. He didn't feel her. But Beth knew he was fully involved in doing something he enjoyed.

Melissa's girls were all at Hogwarts, and Julie and Adrian were shopping together. Julie was filled with pleasurable anticipation. Harry was to have a special present this year. Harry didn't know what it could be, he thought he had everything he possibly needed. Unless she could somehow make his home country accept him again. The only Christmas parties he'd been able to go to, were those that included only his family. Even some of the in-laws shrank from him. He never showed how much it hurt.

Jimmy Carr was watching Harry work. Jimmy was a bit tired, he was not a young man any more. Chris and Chrissy Barnes were dressed up, and very proud of their sons. Simon and Beau were immaculate in their riding gear, concealing their nerves as best they could. Harry had an attack of trembling, ignored by everyone including himself. It meant nothing. Their parents were not the only ones filled with pride at the boys' skills and the horses' abilities. The boys may have been muggles, but Harry had known them all their lives.

Simon was doing a muggle accountancy course, and he and Naomi, the oldest of the Wiley girls, planned to marry, and together, take over Margaret Brown's job. The combination of muggle expertise, and Naomi's status as a witch made them an ideal combination. They'd help with the horses as well.

Of course, Naomi was still only fourteen, and Simon only twenty. The pair had not confided their plans to their parents, but Naomi had told Diane who told her mother, who told Chrissy, who told Margaret Brown.

Margaret looked disapproving, but she nearly always looked disapproving. She had a proprietorial interest in Harry's wealth, and if the plan came to pass, she felt, it would be in good hands. Harry, himself, was not to be trusted with it. His casual attitude had always filled her with amazed horror. Once he'd gone away for five years, come back, and just casually asked if he still had enough money!

There was no sense of danger.

**x**

Three big, grim-faced German aurors waited. A muggle ambulance waited. A frightened muggle ambulance driver waited, as not many wizards can drive. The muggle didn't know what was happening, but as long as he stayed quiet, the terrifying man in a cape would not take out his wand again. The trembling of the muggle did indeed mean something, in spite of reassurances that he was there only to take a sick man to his home not far away.

It was quite a small open area, surrounded by trees. The Dementor hovered, not close, but not far away. It was invisible to the muggle.

Another German auror appeared, with Healer Ben Weasley unconscious in his arms. Ben was quite gently lowered to the ground. Beside him, another auror appeared, carrying Ben's bag. Ben had been told that he was to attend a victim of a Dementor, and, under orders, had packed what he thought he might need. He had still been stunned. Apparating with an uncooperative passenger was very dangerous. Prisoners were always stunned and disarmed, and they were always hit with an anti-disapparation Charm.

The muggle watched, unmoving. Was this the sick man? He waited for instructions.

They wanted an English auror, too, one who knew Harry - preferably one who knew him well, and cared for him. The muggle's memory would have to be modified afterward, and Julie and Ben might not know the spell. An auror would. The same pair who'd brought Ben went to do this job. There had been prior arrangements made, and Alex was already an unconscious prisoner. Last, Julie and Adrian were brought to the ground.

Ben and Alex were left as they were, lying on the ground. There was a communication from the Dementor, which then concealed itself in the trees, and damped down its emanations. Everything was in readiness.

Julie and Adrian were to call Harry in their mind. It was common knowledge among the aurors that he could apparate to a person who called, just as long as he knew them well enough. Even German aurors knew. But when Julie and Adrian were revived, there was a problem. Julie pointblank refused. They stared at her in consternation. Adrian took his lead from his mother, and he refused also. The aurors had no intention of hurting anyone. Harry would be hurt, but it had to be done...

Alex caused a diversion by stirring and getting up, furious as he realised his predicament, held under the wands of two large and dangerous looking men. And he knew these men! They had fought together. He was making a lot of noise, demanding an explanation, and no-one was taking notice of a small boy. Adrian slipped out his wand, and the wands of two German aurors went flying.

"Run," screamed the boy, and ran to his mother, grabbing her hand.

Alex ran for a wand, but there were seven Germans, and one sent a trip jinx. Two ran after Julie and Adrian, and Adrian whirled again on them, his wand raised, but he had not yet mastered the stun spell. An auror apparated behind him, picked him up, removed his wand, and held him kicking and struggling, tucked under his arm. Similar tactics quickly had Julie under control.

The muggle watched. More wizards, and they were fighting.

Adrian was hard to control, although the German had thought it would be quite easy. It was just a small boy! He hoped that the Dementor would not decide that Harry's son was a special spirit as well. The squirming boy managed to sink his teeth into the arm that tried to hold him under control, provoking a swear word, and a change in position that hurt the small boy.

Hundreds of miles away, Harry heard his pain. He looked up, and was by the side of his son, instantly, silently. He glanced around, seven aurors were disarmed, and his wife and son were freed. Why were these aurors threatening his family? They must know that even seven of them were no match for Harry.

He turned around, scanning the sky. Oddly, he still had no real sense of danger, and Alex now had a wand in his hand, and was reviving Ben, giving Ben a wand as well. Harry jumped. What had just happened? He snapped, "Alex, take Adrian. Julie, Ben, disapparate now!"

He started to generate his magic, but the Dementor now sped straight toward him. Harry turned toward it, but retreating. He was trying to kill, but it must not get too close. No-one was leaving.

"Go!" he called to them again, urgently, and tried to disapparate himself, to go further away, and attack from a greater distance. This had happened before. He could not disapparate. Was there going to be another black army?

Abruptly, his form melted into that of a hawk, and he launched himself into the air, confusing the Dementor for a moment, giving him time to put some space between them. He could not work magic as a hawk, and he clawed for height instead.

The Dementor drew in its breath, and the Patronus Charms of Ben and Alex died and the two allies of Harry slumped again to the ground.

Julie and Adrian still stood, staring at the hovering dark figure with a terrible hatred. The German aurors rearmed themselves - their job was to prevent interference. The Dementor had undertaken not to harm anyone but Harry as long as it was not interfered with.

The Dementor hovered, waiting. The special one would not leave his family.

The muggle couldn't see the Dementor, but he'd just seen a man melt into a hawk. The man hadn't even looked like a wizard. He'd been in jeans and a colourful shirt.

One of the German aurors jumped. It was a telepathic communication from Harry, mainly a question, _What?_ _Why?_

The German replied. _We are to prevent interference. If no-one interferes, your friends and family will not be hurt. Afterward, it will go away, and never come back_.

There was a blast of fury from Harry, and the man stumbled.

_Fools! Treacherous fools! You can't believe a Dementor! _And with a scream of rage, the hawk dived, hurtling at bullet speed, to claw and slash at the face of the Privileged One, pulling himself away as he began to feel the dizziness.

The Dementor was hurt, but it glided away from the waiting people before repairing itself. A physical attack had never yet much hurt a Dementor.

The hawk clawed again for height. This time the Dementor followed him into the air. The Dementor was fast, and at home in the air. It was being careful. If the special one fell, he might hurt himself severely.

Harry was thinking about it. What would happen if he just hurtled himself into the ground? The Dementor wouldn't have him then. But might it turn on his family?

The hawk hurtled itself toward the ground. The Dementor was slower, watching in consternation. Was it going to lose its morkon? Harry's dive was veering to the left, but he was still in the open when he slowed at the last minute, landed, and reverted to his human form, standing, the cane automatically and instantly conjured, and started again to generate his magic.

The Dementor felt his spirit start to rise, and dived. Harry had no time to raise his strong magic and stepped back, unready, but trying again and again to kill. The hawk form again, and a desperate attempt to flee. The Dementor was on him and now it was too close. As blackness descended, the hawk was lost and Harry Potter was helpless before the Privileged One.

Tenderly, gently, the Dementor gathered him up in its arms. It was a unique spirit.

The Dementor glided toward the group of onlookers. Julie sobbed in the arms of Ben. Adrian and Alex stood side by side, rigid. The German aurors looked more grim than ever. Had they made a mistake? Even unprepared, he'd put up such a fight.

The muggle was wondering if he dared try to run, but just a glance from one of the big aurors had him decide to be very quiet, very obedient. He'd gathered by now that there was something else here, something invisible.

The Dementor lay Harry down gently on the ground, a little away from the waiting group. Harry didn't stir. Silently gliding, the Dementor approached, Adrian retreating in horror, but Julie facing it, head up and defiant, showing more courage that she'd ever done in her life.

_The special one will be left alive. He will need care. Great care. _

One of the Germans spoke. "The ambulance is waiting. The Dementor says that your home is near."

The Dementor made another communication. _The special one must not be made to feel that his kind do not want him. He must be cared for. _

Dementors knew the emotions of humans more clearly than they knew their physical needs. The Privileged One knew Harry's deep hurt that he concealed from his family and friends. It wanted him to live. He must not be undermined, but humans were a strange species, their emotions clear to the Dementors, but their thoughts were opaque, and the reasons for their emotions often obscure.

The Dementor hovered in front of them, terrifying, radiating a deep cold. _Afterward, I go to join the rest of my kind in death. I will never come back. _

Ben was held firmly by a German auror. He looked at Harry in distress. Light reflected on half-open eyes, and Ben plunged in with questions to the Dementor about his care, trying to distract it for long enough for Harry to do something.

Two of the German aurors saw the same thing. They were not on the side of the Dementor, they were only trying to protect as many people as possible. It was their job. They didn't interfere.

The Dementor was very much aware of the special one, and glided back to his side, giving Harry only enough time to struggle half up, head still spinning, and staring in absolute horror at the predator. He couldn't, not again. But the blackness overtook him.

It was time. Only the Dementor knew enjoyment. Harry's wife, his son, his friends, watched with hearts breaking. They were not far away, and each was not only held firmly, but two aurors stood back, wands raised, guarding them. There must be no interference. The Dementor had threatened to take them all if anyone was allowed to interfere.

The Dementor covered Harry's face with its own, and within seconds, began to taste his physical essence, and to feast on his spirit. The spirit was strong. This time the Privileged One could take much more than it had for a very long time. Ecstasy filled its being. The spirit of the special one was unique.

Julie watched. Somehow she felt that she should watch, to suffer with him. She should not have watched.

Adrian had his face buried in Alex's robes, and Alex stared at the trees, grim faced.

Ben watched, though it was terribly difficult. He was a healer. He should know what he had to treat.

The German aurors watched the trees, or the sky, or the people whom they must prevent from interfering. They were not bad men. This was the most difficult job they'd ever had to do.

After a few minutes, Harry's body went into violent spasms, and the Dementor withdrew. It was not really inconvenienced, it was just a signal that it needed to slow down. The morkon could die a lot quicker if the feeding went too fast. And a dead morkon was of no further use.

Almost tenderly, the Dementor held Harry's upper body, not apparently feeling the weight, or any awkwardness in its position. After a time, the jerking began to die away. The Dementor waited. When it was time, it again lowered its hood.

This time it fed longer before the fitting began again. The spasms were discernibly more feeble, and took less time to die away.

Julie refused to look away, although her eyes were streaming with tears. It was like she watched as her husband was subjected to a cruel and horrible rape.

Ben was looking down now, he could not watch this.

The muggle watched. He couldn't work out what was going on. But it was obvious now who was to be the sick man that he had to take to his home.

For the third time, Harry's teeth were locked into position, and the dark tongue snaked down his throat. The Dementor was in no hurry. It took its time. It would soon be finished, and then it would go to join its own kind, in the state of not alive. This time, when the body started jerking, it was very feeble, and lasted only a few seconds. This time, the Dementor did not withdraw, but just waited, the two faces sealed in the Kiss, the embrace of the Dementor.

Ben tried again to watch. He saw it as the duty of a healer and a researcher. How could they breathe? Either of them? He knew theoretically what was happening, although there had been very few survivors over the centuries. Hardly any people Kissed by a Dementor were able to talk about it afterward. Most were in the state of living dead - like Ivan and Brian had been until their families agreed that they should be put down.

The Dementor resumed its feed. Even when the barest flicker of spirit remained, it was reluctant to disengage. For a few minutes longer, it held its position, pulling its mental probe from the pool where it fed, but continuing the physical taste for just a little longer. Concern for its victim was almost unknown to a Dementor, but this Dementor had fed on a unique spirit. It was still filled with the ecstasy of its feed. It wanted the humans to restore the special one to health.

The Dementor slowly withdrew its tongue, unlocked its seriators from Harry's teeth, and released its victim, laying him gently on the ground. The Dementor straightened, hovered for a moment, its head still inclined to its victim, and made a gesture which released Harry from the magic that stopped him disapparating. Then, swiftly, it rose into the air, and flew off.

It had taken just thirty-five minutes.

Julie was the first to the side of Harry. He was very pale, head turned slightly to the side, his mouth partly opened, and deeply unconscious, just as he'd been put down by the Privileged One. Julie put gentle fingers to the lips she'd kissed so often, and suddenly turned away and was violently ill.

Ben gave her a bare glance, as he checked his patient. He was so close to death. There was no way of telling if this would be another like Ivan and Brian, alive but not alive. The Dementor had said that he could get better. But his friend and patient was so far gone!

A long way away, Simon did his victory lap, his big mare galloping, neck bent, ears pricked, knowing that she had done well.

Jimmy wondered where Harry had got to. No-one else had yet missed him.

**x**


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 13:_

This time, Harry's carers didn't start with a skeleton, but after two weeks had gone by and he hadn't roused, and another few weeks, when his eyes sometimes opened, but he wouldn't acknowledge his carers, or cooperate with them when they tried to get him to eat, he was again emaciated.

They managed to get the same nurses for him as he'd had the previous time, and again feeble-minded Will felt his importance, as they relied on him to lift, with gentleness and care. And it was to Will that he spoke his first words, just a thank you, but Hermione had been feeling so hopeless, and took it as a sign of possible beginning recovery. For a while she'd thought that Beth was wrong when she'd said firmly that Harry was still there. Hermione thought that her friend might already be lost, he was so unresponsive.

She had the monitor on him, and although the readings were not as bad as the previous time, she was even more worried.

The cat spent hours every day sleeping on his comfortable bed. Harry didn't appear to notice.

Only his nurses knew what had happened, and they were told no details, but some of his employees made a shrewd guess. It was not public knowledge. There was something so vile and shameful about being used by Dementors, and Alex had told only Jebedee, and Jebedee had told only Barbara.

The Germans had treated it in a similar way, although Barbara had visited and torn into the German Minister with such fury that he'd stepped back from the short, grey-haired woman in some fear. His resignation didn't make any difference. England wasn't speaking to Germany, even though few people knew the reason.

Harry wasn't thinking, wasn't really doing anything. The biggest physical problem was that he wouldn't eat, although he'd usually take some water. He became more and more thin. They'd coaxed and they'd coaxed, and he'd looked away or closed his eyes, not caring. Hermione finally lost her temper, stamped her foot, and told him that he had to try, that he couldn't just let himself waste away!

Harry's eyes had focused on her then, and for the first time in weeks, he spoke. It was not good. He told her that he couldn't, that it was too much. He was going to die, that he would have died quicker, but he couldn't seem to remember how.

Beth had been interfering. Beth had made sure that he couldn't remember how.

It was only a few days later that he opened his eyes, saw Hermione there, and said, "Sorry, Hermione."

The heartbeat ceased, the breathing ceased. Hermione watched from a yard away. She wasn't even looking at the monitor, though he still wore the sensor around his wrist. Hermione had given up hope. She couldn't make him live if he refused to do so.

He was not to be allowed to die in peace, though. Adrian was watching, and launched himself onto his father's chest, sobbing that he wanted him to be alive, that he needed his father. It had only been seconds, and Harry had not gone far.

He raised a hand, stroked his head, and said, "You'll have an easier time without me. They call me Monster, you know."

Adrian was distraught. "I need my Dad. I don't care if you're a monster, you're my dad."

Harry still stroked his head. And then he turned his eyes to Hermione, who held her breath, not daring to hope. "Where's Julie?"

And Hermione had to say that Julie had not been able to bear it, and had gone to America to stay with her sister for a while. Harry's arm was becoming tired, and he let it drop again to his side, closing his eyes.

Hermione whispered to a nurse, who returned within minutes with a bowl of ice-cream. Will raised him, and Adrian was told what to do. And when Harry turned his head away, Adrian loudly protested, and told him forcibly again that he needed his dad. Adrian held the spoon, and Harry could not hurt his feelings. He took the spoonful of ice-cream, and then several more.

He supposed he'd best get better now, though he would rather have died, he thought... It was such an effort, and he had no courage left. The Dementor had consumed all his courage. Harry thought it was the first thing he'd taken. He slept.

Beth had been petting an old mare called Clarice. It was the dam of the horses that Beau and Simon rode. She conjured a brush, not bothering to use a wand, as no-one was watching, and began to brush the mare, who nuzzled her in appreciation. Beth had removed her consciousness from Harry. She had failed, he was going to die, and she'd not been able to make any difference.

When Harry woke, he touched his own cheek, finding it hairy. He didn't like himself bearded, and he supposed if he was going to live, he'd best do something about it. Magic was effortless and automatic - two hands passed over his cheeks, and he was smoothly clean shaven.

Beth was with him in the room, beaming all over her face. It might take a long time still, but he had such spirit. He would recover, and his clean shaven face, white and haggard as it may be, was a proof of that. A couple of days later, she and Jeremiah went home.

**x**

Adrian was with him as much as he could be, even skipping school when he thought he could get away with it. Hermione and Will watched over him, but Harry asked that the nurses be sent away.

Margaret was to look in the store-room for him. There were some gifts he'd sent home once, and never used. He didn't want them to feel unappreciated - he just didn't want to see anyone. Not his extended family, not Jebedee, who came often, not even Ben. He only needed one healer, he said. He could never hurt his dear friend Hermione, he thought, though he'd nearly starved himself to death as she watched, and that had hurt her.

After a few days, once he resigned himself to living, he was able to walk sufficiently with the help of Will, to get to the bathroom when required. In any illness, that's a thing of importance. But he had no desire to live, and was only barely going through the motions.

It took another couple of weeks before he could move independently, with just the help of his cane. He didn't go outside. He didn't analyse it, but was reluctant to leave the sheltering roof.

One day, he took himself to the gym he'd installed for himself so long ago. He was still weak, but did a little exercising of tired muscles. He supposed he should try. But why had he not been able to die when he wanted?

The gym had always been open to his employees, for their use as well as his own. But now he locked the doors with his magic. Simon and Beau often came in here, also Chris. But Harry didn't want to see anyone, no matter how familiar.

After just a few minutes, he pulled himself out of the rowing machine. He'd reset it to the easiest pull, and was not able to manage even that. He was still holding the machine, but became dizzy and fell anyway. Why had he not been able to die when he wanted? Still lying flat on his back on the floor, he shut his eyes and concentrated. After a few minutes, he knew that he could again die if he wanted, and for a while, played with the temptation.

But there was something else, and the strongest emotion he'd felt for several weeks swept him. Half a world away, Beth jumped and dropped a large serving dish containing a meal for herself and for Jeremiah. Her father was furious, and Beth felt it as a roar, as he made it very clear that she was absolutely_ never_ to interfere in his mind again. No matter what! Never! And he put such a block over his own mind, that when she tried to sense him again, all she could tell was that he was alive.

Beth was shattered at his fury, and it was only as she sobbed in Jeremiah's arms, that he pointed out that it probably meant that he was improving in health. It takes some energy to throw fury to another's mind, half a world away.

It exhausted him, though, and he found he no longer had the strength to get up, and only unlocked the doors with his magic, and closed his eyes again. He still wanted to die. He was found quickly. Harry was irritable these days, and the watch over him was as unobtrusive as possible, but it was a very close watch. The red book/monitor was tucked inconspicuously in a drawer where he was less likely to see it and revolt against it, and he hadn't noticed that the watch he always wore on his left wrist had been replaced by the sensor.

Will picked him up in his arms, and took him back to bed. Hermione only checked the monitor again, seeing the energy levels rock bottom. Energy only seemed to range from extremely low to rockbottom. She took note of the LV readings, but had begun to think that they were by no means the whole story. That there was something deeper than the LV that the Nisco monitor measured, something even deeper than what was the food of Dementors. And there was no monitor to measure it. Hermione had a great deal of wisdom.

Two days later, he was still tired. Being so angry had set his recovery back. Will helped him shower, and afterwards, there was something in Will's unthinking acceptance of his irritability and his weakness as he helped him back to bed. He looked up at the battered and ugly face of the feeble-minded man. "Will?" he said, and his voice was shaking. The big man held him as he started to cry. Harry had been orphaned very young, and this was almost the first time in his life that he gave way to his grief so completely. He cried helplessly, hopelessly, for a long time, in the arms of the gentle man.

Hermione peeped in, and withdrew.

Later, she checked the monitor, and saw that he was deeply asleep. She hoped it would help, that he'd been able to cry. Last time, Beth had said that he was deeply soul sick, but Hermione thought his profound distress this time was even more dangerous.

Ben came to see his mother the next day, looked at her fatigue and worry, and said firmly that she was to be taken home to stay with himself and Hilde for a few days. She needed a holiday. Harry could live or die without her.

Hermione felt a deep relief. Harry was a responsibility, and her strong son could take over for a week or so. It was arranged that Chris would drive her back to Ben's place that same day.

Ben went to tell Harry, then. Harry was upset with himself. He'd been a horrible, selfish brute, Hermione should not come back until he was well, and she was, too. He didn't want to hurt her! She always worried too much.

But Ben wasn't able to manage him as well as Hermione did. Harry did what he wanted, was found on the floor in a state of collapse more often, and when he saw Ben checking the monitor and noticed the sensor on his wrist for the first time, he stripped it off, and when Ben objected, saying that it was needed, Harry said angrily that he hated being watched all the time, and wouldn't put up with it ever again. And both the sensor and the corresponding monitor vanished in flashes of blue flame. Harry turned to stalk off then, but fainted instead, and had to be carried back to bed.

Ben had seen Harry in the Dementor's embrace. Harry had always been his friend, was normally easygoing, and this temper tantrum was most unusual for him. Instead of returning his anger, he went home and consulted with Hermione.

Harry meantime, slept, again exhausted. There was something draining him, a fear he felt every day. How often would the Dementor come back? Was he to be used again, just as soon as he was well enough? If that were to be the case, he would far rather be dead. But there was the worry that had taken him before. Would his family be attacked? Adrian, for instance, who was so like himself? He couldn't stand the thought that he'd been used, that he might be used again, maybe repeatedly, each time he managed to recover sufficiently. But the thought of Julie or Adrian being used in the same way was even worse. No-one had yet spoken to him of his ordeal.

He apologised to Ben next time he saw him, even saying with an attempted smile, that he'd be in disgrace with Hermione.

But Hermione had guessed at his worry. Harry had made no effort to communicate with Julie, and this, she thought, was a sinister sign. Ben agreed, and spoke to Jebedee next time he arrived. Jebedee knew that the Dementor had said that it was the sole survivor, that afterwards it would join the rest of its species. And this time, Harry's firm wishes were disregarded. He was to see Jebedee whether he wanted or not.

Jebedee found him as he'd found him many times before when he'd been sick, sitting in one of his conjured chairs, modelled for his own comfort, and stroking a cat on his knee. But he was in the bedroom, not the loungeroom, where others might come in. And when he looked up, he frowned and said crossly, "I said no visitors."

Jebedee took out his wand, and conjured a chair next to him, even as Harry glared. The big man sat down. Harry was silent. He'd been friends with Jebedee a very long time.

Jebedee didn't ask him how he was, but without preliminaries, said what he'd come to say. All he knew about the undertaking the Dementor had made - that if it had the cooperation of the humans, it would only use Harry that one time, and then join the rest of its species in death. Harry leaned his head back in his chair and closed his eyes. Maybe the Dementor had taken his courtesy as well as his courage. He was making no effort to be polite to one of his best friends.

Jebedee cast him a glance. He looked white and very thin, although this time there had been no long months of imprisonment. Jebedee had been with Barbara when she'd so furiously attacked the German Minister, and Jebedee described the scene. Barbara was so short, and the German Minister was tall and impressive. The German Minister had backed away in obvious fright, the German auror with her making not the slightest attempt to intervene. Harry raised his head and his mouth twitched. It was almost a smile.

Jebedee smiled back at him in utmost relief. He repeated that no-one had seen the Dementor since it had happened. And the others really seemed to be gone.

Harry laid his head back in his chair, and said, "I thought there was going to be another black army. That was when it was just starting. But there was only the one this time, and it beat me... I remember throwing such a blast at that one when I fought them all, and it was hurled away. I thought it was dead... It was the one, the very first that was at the stronghold... If I die, it might come back and go for my family. If I don't die, it might want to use me again and again."

Jebedee was silent for a time, but then offered, "It really does seem that the others are all gone, as it said. And it definitely said that it would not be coming back after..."

A quiver crossed the face of Harry, but he spoke again. "If only I could have had a little time, like they gave me last time. I could have killed it, then... but even with the strong magic, it's not easy."

Harry had scarcely spoken to anyone about his time as the Dementors' prisoner, and had not even spoken to anyone about the battle he'd fought, the closest he'd come was when he complained to Grant that no lunch had been saved for him. Jebedee thought that it was a good thing that apparently he could now talk about it without going to pieces. Harry thought he was already in pieces, and it was such an effort to put himself back together.

Jebedee told him of the Germans, the threats that had been made, even that the German Minister had suffered a demonstration, which he'd refused to describe.

Harry listened closely, and finally said that he could understand why they acted as they had. He was quiet for a few moments, again resting his head back in the chair - he was still tired all the time.

"If it comes back, and wants cooperation, can you warn me? There may be ways - all I need is time to call up the strong magic, and then I would be able to kill it. But it knows when I'm doing it, and it's so fast. But if only I have warning, I might be able to hide behind a barrier that conceals the magic. Something, maybe..."

He was tired again when Jebedee left. But there were plans to make. If only he was warned, how would he go about it? Could he make his strong magic and keep it while he apparated? He thought he might make the experiment, but somehow he doubted if it could be done. It might even be dangerous to try. He was fairly sure now that he had killed Privileged Ones, but it needed the strong magic. Without that, he just couldn't do it.

There was a letter of apology from Beth. He supposed he should forgive her. If she hadn't interfered he'd be dead, and he still felt a longing to be dead. It was only the fear for his family that kept him around.

**x**


	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 14:_

At her sister Lyn's, in America, Julie was bored and irritable, and her sister was getting tired of her. Lyn and Jake didn't know what had happened to Harry, only that he was sick again. But if he was just sick, why was Julie not at his side?

Julie was wandering the shops, aimlessly, as she did nearly every day, almost automatically going through the motions. The sisters had always been close, but Lyn knew that Julie had secrets, and resented them. Harry was still a hero in America, maybe it was part of the national psyche that they always admired the biggest and the best. Lyn thought that if _she'd_ only had the chance to marry the great wizard, she'd be a lot more supportive than Julie was being.

But whenever Julie thought of Harry, the image of the Dementor covering his face, and what she knew of the penetration... She'd twice caught glimpses of the tongue that had gone into him... It made her feel so ill.

When Julie had arrived, there had been an enormous framed photograph of Harry on the wall, one that had been taken as he fought the black army. He'd never looked more the great wizard. Lyn and Jake liked it to be commented on, and they'd say casually, 'Oh yes, our brother-in-law, you know...' But Julie asked them to take it down for a while, and they did.

There was a hand-written sign one day, in a shop window. Julie passed it, moved on, and then went back to it. She read it again. And she phoned the number.

The support group for the victims of rape never pressured the new ones that came now and then. They'd open up when they were ready.

At the fourth weekly meeting, Julie spoke up into a silence, "It wasn't me, it was my husband, and they made me watch..." And she was crying in great, gasping, hysterical sobs. But she was held as she cried, and afterward it was a little easier to bear.

There were daytime meetings and evening meetings. Julie went to the daytime meetings. No-one must know where she went.

She never gave details, and no-one asked for any. They'd all been through it, and sharing the details was not the way for everybody.

**x**

Hermione returned, feeling a lot better. Ben had been able to say that Harry was improving, and was not as bad-tempered.

Harry gave himself another week, working at the job of getting better. Then one morning, as Adrian came in to say good-bye, he told him that he was going to see if he could bring his mother back. Not to tell anyone, but he might be away a few days.

He left a note. Hermione would tell him not to apparate, but he needed his wife. At the very least, he needed to know...

He only took a small kitbag, and was in jeans, and he'd pulled out his brightest red shirt, one that he'd conjured and was kept in a drawer in his office, where Julie never looked. He was sure it would have been gone as soon as Julie found it.

Wallet, wand, jacket with wand pocket, passport, and he was ready, but suddenly remembering there was a time difference. And then he had to wait half the day until the time was more suitable. His hair was rather long again, but it had only been a few months, and it was not the mane he'd had for a while. He peered at himself in the mirror in a rare display of worry. Was his face too thin? Would she still find him attractive?

As soon as the time was right, he felt for his wife, wove the magic that meant he didn't apparate halfway through a wall, or where someone else was standing, or anything stupid like that, and appeared in a busy street.

There she was, talking to an older woman, a muggle, he thought, probably, though you couldn't always tell. Nervously, he watched, holding his cane, desperately wanting his Julie, but frightened that she wouldn't want him. Julie looked up, straight at him. His shirt was very conspicuous, of course.

Julie said softly, "Harry?" and he walked straight to her and gathered her in his arms.

The large woman next to Julie was very good hearted, wanting everyone around her to be happy. Tact, however, was not her strong suit.

When the couple broke apart, Julie introduced her to Betty, who shook his hand warmly, "Welcome, Mr. Bellamy, so brave of you! You're coming to our meeting, of course! Not many men would have the courage after what was done to you!"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Julie who was looking confused. Betty's voice was loud and penetrating, and Harry turned to the shopfront that announced that it was a Rape Crisis Centre. People in the street were turning and staring.

Harry smiled tenderly at his wife, and murmured to her invitingly, "I'd rather go somewhere else…"

Betty watched after him as they left. Glory, he was attractive, and she'd felt that aura of sexuality that Harry Potter could project when he chose. She thought that if the invitation had been for her, she would not have hesitated a moment, without a thought to her own crotchety husband!

At the hotel close by, the smirking clerk said, "Changing for a wedding, are we?" the euphemism of the time for when people wanted a room for a few hours.

But Harry looked puzzled, "No - I want somewhere to make love with my wife?"

Julie was giggling and blushing. "Harry, you're not supposed to say that!"

"Why not? It's perfectly respectable to make love with one's own wife!"

They ended up staying the night, Julie making an excuse to her sister. Harry never had liked Lyn and Jake much, but there was no denying that they were very hospitable. This was not the first time that Julie had landed herself on them for months at a time.

Harry was still quite unwell, but sex was a favourite activity, and he was never too tired for that. When Julie saw how tired he became afterward, though, and how he relied on his cane, she was adamant. He was not allowed to apparate. Harry was obedient. Just as long as Julie was with him, and he checked for the seventh time - she really was coming home, wasn't she?

He felt for Julie - it wasn't only himself that had suffered. She'd obviously seen what was done to him as a rape. Harry thought it was in a way. He'd truly been raped once, by a man called Smith-Burton, many years ago. He was not sure whether Julie knew about it. Most did, but Julie hadn't even been born then. Being used by Dementors made that past ordeal seem so trivial. He'd been upset at the time, but it had been nothing - just a minor physical penetration of the body. He thought now that his shame had been childish. He still wasn't sorry he'd killed that man, and now he wanted terribly, terribly much to kill the Dementor that had fed on him.

It was a long trip home by muggle transport. There were no problems. Both Harry and Julie's passports had charms on them. 'Perfectly in order,' a muggle would say, whether they were in New York, or Brunei.

Harry had regarded the pile of Julie's purchases since she'd been in America with amusement, and tapped his wand to it and sent it home. She may leave him from time to time, but she was still happy to spend his money.

Lyn and Jake had been upset that he hadn't been staying longer, they loved to show him off to their friends. But he explained that he wasn't well, and they turned their plans to getting him back when he was. They'd even had the American Minister for Magic at their house the last time they'd had Harry Potter there to show off.

The moment they returned, Hermione tore strips off Harry for daring to apparate without her permission, especially to America, when everyone knew that was impossible. And then and there she pulled out her Nisco monitor, and told him that the LV was only 23, and that if he thought of apparating again before she gave permission he'd be lucky to survive her anger!

Harry said, "Yes, Hermione."

The old lady glared at him, and started toward the library, only throwing back over her shoulder a brief word to Julie, "Glad to see you're back!"

Harry was happier for a few days now that he had Julie back, and could cuddle her all night if he chose. But he still wasn't convinced the Dementor was gone, and he sometimes worried that there were more thousands somewhere. Even now, with the testimony of the Privileged One, he could not believe that he could possibly have exterminated a species. His frequent habit of carefully scanning the sky continued, whenever he was outside.

But what now? It was the middle of March, he hadn't been able to resume teaching, and now Euan had a good excuse to say that he couldn't.

He was still not himself, although he stopped hiding from his workers and was not as irritable. He often saw the young men in the gym or the swimming pool, as he tried to rebuild his fitness. He had thought it wouldn't take long - it was not as if he'd been a prisoner this time, or only for less than an hour. But it was taking a long time.

His ordinary magic never seemed to suffer when he was ill, although normally, sick wizards find it very difficult to work magic. His mind was still on defence, and he worked on a personal shield that surrounded him, until he could conjure it instantly, without notice - a shield that was almost impervious to telepathy and magic. Maybe, in the shelter of the shield, he could whip up the strong magic, and then attack when he was ready. He didn't know if the shield would work. Dementor magic was different. Three times, he'd been unable to disapparate, although he could ignore any disapparation charm put on by a wizard.

As soon as he had more strength, he would work at generating the strong magic quicker - right now, he doubted if he could do it at all.

**x** 

April was Rebecca and Harry White's first wedding anniversary. White presented his wife with a pretty necklace of pearls. He'd taken it from the neck of a young girl after the rape. He liked Rebecca to wear it when they had sex. It made her a bit more interesting for a while. But she never fought, never resisted, and he only used her so frequently because she was convenient. He was a very highly sexed man.

Rebecca was pale and thin. She felt constantly bruised inside. There was a dead look about her expression. Her husband had punished her when he discovered her with contraceptive pills shortly after the marriage, and she hadn't dared since. She had not become pregnant. None of the women White had used had ever become pregnant to him. A lot of them were just children, of course...

**x**

Harry's carers had been very cautious about talking to him of the Dementor's use of him, but Ben thought he was coping better now, and told him of Adrian's furious resistance against the German aurors. Harry was very proud of him, and Harry's praise meant a lot to the boy.

Adrian had not been able to work the stun spell - not that any other eight year old could, but Harry asked Chris to buy him a small flock of sheep, so that Adrian could practise on them. The sheep were coddled, and didn't seem to mind finding themselves struggling to their feet after a period of unconsciousness now and then, especially when such delicious food was always waiting for them.

Simon and Beau watched in fascination. Beau even borrowed Adrian's wand, and had a try, but Harry explained that it was not just the wand that made a wizard - he had to have the talent. Beau decided that if he couldn't be a wizard, then maybe he'd marry a witch, and his children might be witches and wizards. He thought about the Wiley girls.

Harry's manager, Bill Forrester, died. Bill had been with Harry for nearly sixty years, had never married, and had always been so dependable. Chris Barnes became officially the new manager, a job he'd been effectively doing for at least the past ten years. Just two days later, Milly, the old cook, was in her chair in the kitchen, sternly regarding the activities of Klaus and Tracy, as always, when it was suddenly noticed that she, too, was dead.

Harry envied them. It seemed so hard to have to live when he was all used up.

Slowly, slowly, he became better, and Hermione lifted her ban on apparation, though she said that he had to take great care not to get too tired.

She still lived at his place, and still said that it was only temporary. The thin old lady was a favourite among the workers. Simon broke his arm once when he fell at a horse show. He'd been taken to a muggle hospital. But once he returned, Healer Granger just vanished the cast, fixed the bone, and dabbed a violet lotion over his several bruises. He had to get her to conjure a pretend cast, though, as he could not be seen in muggle areas for several weeks, without it.

**x** 

Adrian turned nine, and felt himself a very big boy. He still practised every day with his wand, especially the defensive spells that could be vital. Harry helped him, and taught him more magic, totally disregarding the ban on underage magic. He'd long since come to the conclusion that the spells that protected and hid his home also hid the emanations of underage magic that the Ministry was usually so quick to pick up.

Harry worked on communicating with him telepathically, too. Adrian seemed to have none of the talent himself, but if the effort came from Harry, it could be done. It seemed to be the only thing he could concentrate on these days, anything to help defend his family and himself.

Adrian was responsible for his age, and he'd already shown that he was a fighter, even when he looked so small and thin. One day, Harry showed both Julie and Adrian the hidden and almost forgotten house in London that he owned. Sirius Black's old house was very well protected, and Harry thought the only person left alive who might remember it beside himself, was Hermione. He'd shown all his children, Meg, Vicki, James and Beth, and Adam Bourne, his stepson.

They went by muggle transport, so that in an emergency Adrian could get there by himself. He planned to teach Adrian apparation well before the allowed age of seventeen, but nine was far too young. His home could be exposed, and with his large family, so many knew where it was now, but this place was very safe, very hidden. The refuge might be needed now that it seemed that the world of wizardry had turned so thoroughly against him, and could turn against his son.

The weather was getting warmer, foals were born, and there was a new litter of kittens, but Harry didn't seem to be able to cast off the pall of depression that held him. He'd scarcely even ridden since he'd been ill.

LV 70, Hermione announced, and Harry knew that there was not much point resuming spell-breaking yet, he would not be able to work the strong magic, and Cissy was doing nearly all the rest of them. They'd just have to wait for him.

Then one day, in the Daily Prophet, was a big item, not on the front page, but further back. Were the Dementors really gone? Harry read it thoroughly. Since Harry's battle the previous September, there had been none seen, except for an instance of just one, not long come to light, that had been spotted hovering over a prison where hundreds had been guards a few weeks before. It was a matter of importance to wizardry, and there were reports of expeditions that explored areas where they'd been known to congregate. None had been found.

Oddly, the newspaper glossed over the contribution of Harry Potter to their disappearance, but there were several opinion pieces on its significance to Wizardkind. One mourned the extinction of a species, and said that Wizardkind had no right to wage war on another species. Another complained that the Dementors were the only way certain powerful wizards could be kept confined, and Harry shuddered. But England hadn't used Dementors in that way for seventy years, and he thought that Azkaban was still reasonably secure.

Three other writers said that it was a good thing. Harry wondered how anyone could think it was anything else. Dementors had been parasites. Would a dog mourn the extinction of fleas?

The definite conclusion of the Daily Prophet was that the Dementors had gone.

A few days later was the weekly issue of the Quibbler, once owned by Harry's second wife, Luna. Harry still contributed articles occasionally, and the Quibbler had always supported him. It was almost a tradition.

This, too, talked about the Dementors. It started with a history of the Dementor War and the subsequent Dementor raids. And then it spoke particularly about Harry, about how he had suffered imprisonment, his condition when rescued, and how he was suspected of having something to do with the sudden cessation of the raids. Then there was the projected peace treaty, and the Dementors' insistence on the presence of 'the special one.' It seemed the editor thought that Harry might need some good press, and emphasised that Harry had been put in the position of fighting whether he liked it or not. It, too, concluded that the Dementors were gone, but this paper had the additional feature of condemning the attacks that had been made on Harry. It said that, since Christmas, Harry Potter had become a recluse.

Harry was finally beginning to acknowledge that the Dementors might really be gone. He sent the Quibbler one of his Howler Bins - he thought they might be getting some nasty mail around now.

The Daily Prophet had a follow up story a few days later, it sounded like a reply to the Quibbler. Harry had never taken much notice of the prophecies that had been made, and it still sounded to him as if the prophecies could be conceived as having come to pass whether he'd won or not. But now there were more prophecies made - that the great wizard would be driven out of his home, and this prophecy was used as an excuse to say that the crowd tactics of hissing him when he appeared in public were justified, and according to prophecy.

Harry didn't send them a Howler Bin, though he contemplated sending them a Howler, one like they'd never seen before!

It seemed clear that the latest attack on him had not become public knowledge, to Harry's relief. He always hated being seen as a victim. He'd rather be a monster.

Harry got up after reading that article, and started pacing the floor. He was in deep thought. He still felt fragile, and even now, it was very hard to think about what had been done to him. But he couldn't get away from it. If the Privileged One survived, it might come back. Harry stopped then, it was hard to walk when he was trembling, and this time it was more severe than usual. Keeping his balance with his cane, he stared at the sunshine pouring in through a window.

If he was going to get better, if he was going to choose life, he needed to throw off his malaise, and start living. He wanted to talk to the German Minister himself, the former Minister, the one the Dementor had threatened. Weiss was his name. Harry didn't know where the German Ministry building was, and he wanted to speak direct, not through Barbara or Jebedee. He knew someone there. He knew Emil Schultz, and Emil would probably know how to find Weiss.

In preparation, Harry dressed himself more formally than usual. He was going to appear as the great wizard, or at least as a wizard. His hair was quite long again, and he peered in the mirror. His face was still thin, and he suddenly noticed that his forehead scar was a lot more obvious than normal. He rebuked himself. He was only going to talk, not fight.

Caped, and with Beth's old wand in his pocket, Harry concentrated, and Emil Schultz, in Germany, looked up from his desk and gasped in surprise. The German Auror Department was quite similar to that in the English Ministry, a very large open room, with five foot high partitions separating work areas. It was a lot neater, though.

Emil extended a hand, "Harry," he said, and glanced around. "You're not supposed to be here."

Harry shook his hand, but he was frowning. His temper was rising, even though he'd told himself firmly that he was there just to talk.

"I want to talk to..." Harry abruptly changed his mind. "I want to talk to your head of Department. And then to Weiss."

Emil was very worried. What was Harry going to do to Schweitzer, and to Weiss?

Harry read his mind, "I won't hurt them," he said. But he was beginning to feel a roiling rage within him, especially as others were noticing him now, including two who had been at that place where...

One came over to him, courageously, or maybe foolishly. "How do you do, Mr. Potter. Good to see you in health."

Harry's scar was blazing now, and he was pale, breathing fast. He had thought he could hold onto his temper.

Turning his back on the auror, he asked Emil to take him to the head of Department.

"No need," said a voice behind him. "I am here."

It was a big man, with grey hair. Lines were etched into his face, and he looked weary. "I am Schweitzer. Would you like to come to my office?"

Harry had his mind open to the aurors around. They all knew who he was. Many were ignorant of the reason for his presence, but most knew, and were very worried. What might he do to them all? Only one was trying to make up his mind to take action now, before Harry could hurt anybody, and that one suddenly jumped, as he heard a warning in his mind, _Be careful! _And the eyes of the great wizard were briefly on him.

Once in the more private office, Harry made his demands. "I want to know exactly what the Dementor said, and I want to hear it from those who spoke to it."

There was a nod, and word was passed for three more aurors. Harry learned firsthand about the deal that had been made, about the threats that had been made, and an auror told him, looking sick as he did, how Weiss had been treated to a demonstration.

Harry's face was icy. It didn't seem as if Weiss would have anything further to add, the Germans were sure that the last of the Dementors had indeed gone.

Harry had his statement to make now. And he told them, using a deadly tone that had them shivering. If things had been done properly, he would probably have been able to kill the Dementor. That if it happened again, it was the Dementor that would be led into a trap. That if the Dementor tried to make any further deals, they could lead it on, but that Harry must be advised straight away, so that he could kill it. That if they dared to think of setting him up again, that they would be very sorry. And if they_ ever _laid hands on his family again, he would burn them alive.

Bravely, Schweitzer said that they did not believe it possible for the Dementor to be killed, which was why they had acted as they had. It had to be done, for the good of everyone.

Harry lost his temper, although it was not obvious. His voice dropped, and was more deadly than ever. "The Dementor only takes one at a time," he said. His face was white now, his scar blazed, and he had started to tremble. "If you start to think that way again, just start thinking what _I_ can do, as well as what the Dementor can do!"

Before he totally lost control, he silently vanished in front of their eyes, in spite of the anti-apparation spell that protected the whole department.

For a long time that day, Harry still trembled with sick rage, and hid himself in his office, locking the door. He had never threatened anyone in that fashion before, and it was only much later that he decided he'd been extremely foolish. But he couldn't bring himself to apologise. And the picture of the Privileged One coming at him when he could no longer act in his own defence came back into his head. When he saw that picture he always wanted to be dead.

Three days later, Harry received a personal hand-written note from Barbara. He was wanted at a conference, to discuss relations with the Germans, and also, in the unlikely event of a Dementor reappearing, possible plans. And, to warn him, she noted that there would be representatives of the Germans. It was in two days' time.

Harry looked at the note, and took himself to the gym. This time he ignored the exercise machines, and instead, belted into the punching bag until he trembled with exhaustion. He was grimly determined to get strong again as soon as possible, and all too frequently overdid the exercise, and this time he just wanted to hit, even if was just a punching bag.

Hermione gave him frequent lectures, and he would always listen and agree, and would forget the next day. He had to get strong. He wanted to practise whipping up the strong magic so that he could do it in seconds, and then he could kill the Privileged One. He was not going to be used again, and a wild despair would rise up in him at the very thought. And every day, he would remind himself that it was probably dead. That he was being stupid, that he should enjoy the life he had. It was a good life, he knew theoretically, but only seldom did he manage to cast off his fear.

Oddly, he was not having nightmares these days, although he always slept very close to Julie, and she found that if she moved away even a little, his hand or knee would soon be touching again. He needed the physical contact.

Jebedee visited the following day, just to check exactly what Harry had said to Schweitzer that had them so worried. As usual, a couple of small dogs barked furiously, and a young man came cantering over to investigate. Jebedee knew all of Harry's staff now, and wondered how they thought that a muggle would be any use if he'd been an attacker. But Beau had his alarm ready, and two more wizard security guards had recently been hired, and were also looking in his direction.

Beau slipped off his horse and walked with Jebedee toward the house.

"How is he these days?" Jebedee asked curiously.

Beau slanted the big black man a look, and said, "He doesn't ride any more. And when we see him, he hardly talks."

Jebedee was silent. Hermione had shared her worries when he'd been so sick, when he'd been starving himself to death. She'd even told him his words, that it was too much, that he was going to die, that he couldn't do it any more. But that was months ago, and he was looking a lot better these days, even if he was too thin.

Jebedee was pointed to a large workshop a little way from the house. He'd never known the purpose of this room. It was a long time since Harry had worked at his inventions, still the source of most of his income. And he was not working now. He had his hands in his pockets, and was just staring at a complicated silver device that seemed to be working very hard, doing all sorts of interesting things. Jebedee greeted him, and he, too, looked at the thing.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I forget what I called it," said Harry. "It does nothing at all, just looks busy."

Jebedee asked, "Are you going to start inventing again?"

"I don't know. I won't be teaching again, even when I'm properly well. Euan says that the school board won't consider it." He cast a glance at Jebedee. "I'm glad you don't think that I'm a monster."

Jebedee wanted to put his arms around him at that moment, as a father might, even though Harry was quite a lot older than he was. He was looking so tired and sad.

"Can we go somewhere and sit a while?" Jebedee asked. And when they went outside, Jebedee pointed to a table and chairs in a pleasant garden. They were rather weather-beaten, and Harry slipped out his wand, waved it, and the chairs and table were instantly sparkling new and clean. Jebedee blinked. No-one else could conjure so effortlessly, but at least he'd used his wand this time.

Harry scanned the sky in an automatic and habitual action, and said, "I suppose you want to know what I said to the Germans."

"You've got them very worried."

Harry admitted, "I lost my temper. I only meant to find out firsthand what the Dementor had told them - to see if maybe I could believe that it really was going to die."

"They said you threatened them."

"I told them that if they ever laid hands on my family again, I'll burn them alive. That part I meant. Otherwise, I was not specific, just implied that I was more dangerous than the Dementor." He cast a shamed glance at Jebedee. "It was stupid. It's not like me to lose control like that."

Jebedee was alarmed for a moment. "You didn't hurt anyone?"

Harry was surprised, "Of course not! I'm not really dangerous, surely you realise that by now!"

Jebedee smiled. This man had wiped out several thousand Dementors, a whole species, and he said he wasn't dangerous!

"Is Barbara furious with me?" Harry asked.

Jebedee paused. Klaus and Tracy were approaching, each with a tray in hand. Harry smiled and thanked them. His staff looked after him very well, he hadn't thought of asking for anything, but hospitably poured some coffee for Jebedee, and offered him the plate of scones. The sun was shining, bees were buzzing in the flower beds close, and the air was flavoured with pleasant scents.

Harry didn't notice. He was checking the sky again, and this time Jebedee asked him what he was doing.

Harry looked self-conscious, "Nothing, just a habit I've fallen into..."

Jebedee let it slide. "Barbara was so upset when she found out what they'd done - I think she was quite pleased that you threw a fright into them."

Harry looked unseeing, at a flower bed. "How many actually know? At the Ministry, I mean?"

Jebedee answered, "Barbara, Alex, myself, no-one else."

Harry smiled rather bleakly, "Thanks for keeping it quiet."

"You're going to the meeting?"

"I'd better. Maybe the Germans won't start trying to kill me if they see that I'm a _tame_ monster..."

Jebedee smiled, and clapped him on the shoulder. "No-one's managed to kill you yet, and plenty have tried."

Harry was still not smiling. "It was easier when I didn't have family. This time they used Julie and Adrian. And then they kept them there. They should have taken them away once they'd got me, but they didn't. Julie was terribly hurt. Adrian has never spoken of it. - I don't understand why they did it like that - so elaborate, when the Dementor could just have got me alone somewhere. It knows that it just has to come close quickly enough, and it has me."

Jebedee was using his voice, so effective - deep, calming. "The Germans said that it wanted you to have immediate help afterward, that it didn't want you to die..."

Harry was trembling suddenly, great shudders that went through his body. Why didn't it want him to die if it wasn't planning to come back? But he said nothing.

**x**


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 15:_

The following morning, a German auror who Harry didn't know waited in the atrium of the Ministry, with an English auror who Harry didn't know. It was nothing sinister, just that Jebedee thought that the Germans should see something. Word had been allowed to spread that Harry was to appear, and there were many more people in the atrium than normal, including a lot who didn't work at the Ministry. The atrium was a public area, and people were allowed to congregate if they chose.

The German had been told where to look. There was a particular area set aside for apparating witches and wizards. Almost all of the rest of the Ministry building was protected with anti-apparation spells, and while Harry could ignore that, he usually did the normal thing where possible. It was only out of habit now, though. After the Dementor battle, there was no likelihood that people would forget he could do things no-one else could.

Silently, Harry was there. He'd chosen to wear muggle clothing, just a light jacket over jeans and colourful shirt. His white-streaked hair was quite long again. Julie liked it that way, and he tried to give her whatever she wanted, especially these days, when he was such poor company. Often, he thought that he didn't deserve her back.

The hissing started, vicious, sustained. Harry was expressionless. He cast a look around, his eyes going briefly to the pair that waited, and then turned to the clerk whose job it was to escort him to the conference room.

The hissing continued as he walked with the clerk toward a corridor. Harry was very alert. There was such hostility, and his mind was open to those who looked poison at his back. He was ready to turn in an instant if he was attacked.

Barbara welcomed him as he walked into the conference room. She gave him his usual hug and kiss, and Harry's arms briefly tightened around the short, round woman. Her continuing support was precious to him.

Still holding his hand, she introduced him to those assembled - the new German Minister for Magic, whose name was Steinway, Schweitzer, looking more tired than ever, and Huber, International Cooperation.

Sarah Creevey was head of the English Department of International Cooperation, but didn't know why relations were currently so strained. Barbara had said that it was something to do with Harry, and that it was to be kept very quiet. Sarah was wildly curious, but was a supporter of Harry from way back, and refrained from complaining that she was not invited.

Alex and Jebedee were there, and Harry nodded to them. This was the first time that Alex had seen him since that day before Christmas when it had taken just over half an hour to reduce him from vigorous health, to barely alive. Even now, Alex thought, he did not look at all well.

A couple of witches were bearing trays of food in, and setting them on the table. "Please, sit down," Barbara said, sitting Harry next to herself, Jebedee on his other side.

A witch was pouring coffee, serving everyone else, before pouring one for Harry. Harry was watching. "Bernadette!" he said quietly, warningly, and the witch jumped, hurriedly put down the coffee she had just poured and scuttled out the room. Harry rose and poured another coffee for himself, ignoring the one that Bernadette had been preparing.

Schweitzer had been watching - he hadn't seen what the witch had done to the coffee, but there had been something. He turned his gaze to Harry, who sat, apparently calm, sipping his coffee, and waiting. Schweitzer noticed that the forehead scar was now scarcely visible, just an old faded scar, half hidden by hair. It had been so strikingly pronounced when he had threatened them the previous week.

Meaningless civilities were being exchanged. Barbara glanced at Harry. He was still sitting quietly, expressionless. She put a cake on a plate, and put it in front of him. He thanked her courteously, but was not eating. Jebedee, too, had a wary eye on Harry. It may have been over six months since it happened, but Harry was a very long way from his normal self.

Jebedee nodded at Huber, and Huber rose, handing out a stapled sheaf of paper to each of those present. "We've been making some very thorough investigations," said Schweitzer. "This has recently come to light. The source is Latvia, thought to be the original home of the Dementors. It was the nineteenth December last year."

Harry cast his mind around the table. Each of the three Germans thought the documents genuine. Harry started reading, as did the other English, although the Germans had seen them before. When Harry got to the third page, almost automatically, he started eating his cake.

Schweitzer took note, as did Jebedee. The two experienced aurors were trained to notice things like that - it was a sign of reduced tension. Barbara noticed too. She was a woman and a mother.

Harry finished the last page, and then started again. No-one commented, no-one tried to hurry him. When he put them down, finally, he said, "These are translations, do you have the originals?"

A motley collection of original handwritten documents were slipped out of a file, and handed to him. There were seven accounts of a penetrating cold that had seemed to progress though a small and remote village. One of the muggles was closer, and spoke of a terrible feeling of despair as well as the cold. And then there were two wizard accounts. Since the previous September, wizards had been based in that village, it stated, to watch and wait in case the Dementors came back. As soon as they heard, they had gone to investigate, but by the time they arrived, the Dementor was just a vile smelling corpse. Neither had approached, but had watched from a distance, until, quite suddenly, clothing and all, it had melted into the air.

The documents were in a language and even an alphabet that Harry didn't know. But he touched each of the papers, stared into space, feeling, wanting to know. Those who had written them, each one of them, had believed what they wrote. He even had a sense of what they said.

"They're genuine!" he said. "Maybe it _is_ dead!" His voice was quiet, wondering. And he turned to Jebedee on his right, "It sounds like it must be dead."

Jebedee was smiling at him. "We told you that you don't have to worry any more. And you can stop searching the sky for them whenever you go outside!"

Harry didn't know what to think, what to say. He wished he was alone, he didn't like showing deep emotion. Alone or not, he had to move, and pushed back his chair, quite suddenly, going to stand, trembling, at the window.

He wasn't alone for long, Barbara was hugging him again, and Alex was wringing his hand. Jebedee was less restrained, picking him up, and whirling him around, booming, laughing. "It's all right, it's over, there'll never be another!" And he hugged him again, the big man hiding Harry's face for long enough that Harry could draw a great, trembling breath, and pretend to be perfectly cool and controlled as he turned to face the Germans.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper last week. I didn't go intending to make threats."

Schweitzer lost his grim look for a moment. "We understand that you've been under a strain."

Harry laughed, "Just a bit, just a bit!" And the broad smile stayed in position, as Barbara started talking political talk with Steinway about resuming diplomatic relations.

The Germans' file on Harry Potter was thick. It had been around almost as long as the English one. It had been read very thoroughly, and Harry's abilities, known and suspected, had been taken into account. Each of the original documents that Harry had accepted as genuine, had been written by a person, muggle or wizard, who believed them to be true. Afterward, their memories had been re-modified. None of the Germans present at the conference, or even the two additional aurors who waited outside, had any reason to think them not genuine.

It was not done with evil intent. The Germans thought the Dementors gone, including the last of them, the Privileged One. But Harry Potter had to be convinced that they were gone, in case he did something terrible to punish them all.

Harry stayed at the window, staring out. It appeared that his part in the conference might be over. It was a magical window, they were actually quite deep underground, but it showed the sun shining, and for the first time in a long time, Harry had a desire to be outside. Alex was with him, also lounging his tall frame against the wall.

"You must be proud of your son, disarming two experienced aurors!"

Harry smiled a touch wider. "I am. He can stun now, too. He's been practising."

Alex commented, "Better not tell Jason, he gets so cranky about underaged magic."

"The Ministry's never bothered me about it. I've taught all my children early, though Adrian's the only one who's had to seriously try and use it."

Alex said, "Your home's hidden - that probably stops detection, but last December was away from your home, and as far as I know, nothing was said. He's been talking about you being an unregistered animagus, though."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "How'd he know about that?"

"You were seen trying to escape the stronghold, and Beth said it was you, and then again, at the Dementor Battle, they broke your arm, they said so that you wouldn't assume your other form, and try to fly away."

Harry said, "I don't really want to register, it's not nearly as good a potential defence if everybody knows."

"When did you learn?"

Harry cast him a glance. "Don't tell anybody."

"Of course not."

"It was just before I left school. Everybody was trying to kill me then, and I didn't trust the Ministry not to try and lock me up. It seemed a good idea, though I haven't actually used it much. And even those times I did, it didn't help. But you never know what's in the future."

He turned back to the rest in the room then, and helped himself to another cake.

Barbara and Steinway were shaking hands, and Jebedee was talking in a genial fashion to Schweitzer. The conference was breaking up.

Steinway clapped Harry suddenly on the shoulder, "Everything forgiven then?"

Harry looked cold suddenly. "We should not jump to conclusions. The Dementors could reappear, no-one knows how they breed, and it would not be hard for them to keep out of sight. The Patronus spell should still be taught, and I meant what I said. If the Germans are approached again to lead me into a trap, it would be a great deal better for everybody if instead the Dementor was led into a trap."

Steinway stepped back. The average sized man in casual muggle clothing was suddenly projecting the aura of a powerful wizard. Steinway gave his false politician's smile, "Of course, of course."

Harry walked back to the table. Huber was carefully replacing the original documents in their file. Harry picked up the sheaf of papers he'd been given, the translations, and asked Huber if he might keep them.

"Yes, of course," said Huber, and asked if Mr. Potter would be making a spell-breaking trip to Germany soon.

"Hasn't Madam Diefenberger been quite recently?" asked Harry.

"There are always some she can't do," said Huber, "And besides, everybody likes the great wizard to visit, even if you won't give interviews or listen to speeches."

"My plans are uncertain," said Harry, but an enormous smile spread across his face again, "But it appears that I can now have plans!"

Huber's face creased into a smile of sympathy. He'd been appalled when he'd been told what Germany had done to Harry, but he understood the reasons. Weiss, it was said, had never quite recovered.

There were two German aurors just outside the door. One was the senior auror who'd been the team leader the previous December. Harry was laughing with Alex as they left the conference room. Harry darted him a look, and the auror was sure that he'd been recognised, but then Harry ignored him, walking with Alex toward the atrium. Barbara called to him to wait, that she'd come with him, too, saying briefly to the Germans left behind that she'd be back shortly, that they could order more coffee if they wanted.

In the atrium, an English and a German auror still lounged as more and more people congregated. Harry had appeared rather cold and expressionless when he had arrived, this time his face was vivid, as he talked about the virtues of using sheep to teach the stun spell. There was one that came trotting up to them every time they approached. She was getting quite fat and had recently been dubbed Milly.

He still ignored the people who faced him with hostility, and started their hissing, in spite of the presence of the Minister for Magic. But Harry was in better spirits than he'd been for a very long time, and was no longer worried that he might lose his temper if he acted. He appeared to be paying no attention whatever to the hissers, laughing at something that Alex said, when suddenly the hissing stopped and there was a chorus of coughing.

"Goodness," Harry said innocently, "Must be an unhealthy place to work, this!"

Alex laughed, but Barbara looked around, worried. Pressure had been mounting, and she might find herself out of office soon.

None of the hissers were grateful for the extreme mildness of Harry's revenge, and none of them seemed to consider that this man could probably kill all of those there, with just a sweeping glance around the room.

Harry looked down at Barbara. "Sorry, Barbara. I'll leave the country as soon as I'm well, and then the pressure might ease."

Barbara squeezed his hand, "I don't want you to do that!"

Before he could disapparate, Harry was surrounded by a dozen aurors, his friends, those who had been with him, those who had protected him, and those whom he'd acted to protect. They knew him very well, these tough men. They didn't know that he'd been used by a Dementor again, they only knew that he'd sunk out of sight these past several months. Many suspected that there was something they'd not been told. Whatever, here was their Harry looking happy, if rather thin, and they bore him off to the aurors' department for a visit. Sullen eyes followed him, although the coughing had quickly died away.

Barbara rejoined the group of Germans, now with the addition of the one who had been in the atrium, and the pair that had been on guard outside the room, in case Harry tried to launch a wholesale massacre. They weren't sure what they'd be able to do about it if he did, but it made Steinway and Huber feel safer. Jebedee was talking in his deep, authoritative voice. Harry had been hissed - viciously, nastily - and had taken no action. A witch had tampered with his coffee, and he'd only said her name in a warning voice. And when he did act against the hissers, it was only a short coughing spell. No harm done to them at all. Harry was not dangerous to the Germans, was his message. He was a good man, with a great deal of self control.

Schweitzer and Kohn, who had seen him in Germany, were only partially convinced. But they had not the slightest intention of acting against him. And they wondered at the rash stupidity of those who hissed at him. What could he not do if he tried?

Two hours later, Harry was still in the aurors' department, now with his feet up, and looking entirely at ease, listening as Patrick described the Quidditch match he'd watched the previous Saturday. Franz was watching, smiling. It was good to see him looking so carefree, but he was very thin, and he was convinced that something had happened, that Harry had been in the wars again since he'd seen him last.

Suddenly, from behind, arms wrapped around Harry, and the bright face of Ginny Davenport appeared. "Hello, Grand-dad," she said, to the surprise of many. They tended to forget how old Harry actually was. "Glad to see you're better."

"Ginny!" he said.

And Ginny asked, teasingly, "Are we allowed to come visit now?"

"Of course," Harry said blithely, as if he hadn't put a total ban on visitors for the past six months.

"You won't do anything monstrous, will you?"

He smiled fondly at his grand-daughter, "I'll try not to."

Jebedee appeared. He had a list of duties, and Harry watched, still with feet up on a desk, as he read out assignments to the listening aurors. Jebedee finished, and Harry removed his feet from the desk, standing, using his cane to keep his balance, quite suddenly tired.

Franz was watching, narrow-eyed, but glanced at Jebedee and said nothing. He reckoned that Jebedee knew what had happened.

Harry decided not to face the atrium again, and apparated from the corridor outside the department. It was just a matter of avoiding the hostile crowd. He had no sense of danger, and didn't know that there were now potential assassins, hoping for a chance to get him in the back, and then instantly disapparate.

He reappeared in the apparation zone of the grounds of his home. He had a yearning to be outside, although, except for teaching Adrian some magic, he'd seldom been outside in all the months of his slow recovery. He arrived smiling, almost laughing in his sheer exuberance. He felt a lightness of the spirit that had been so long absent. And when he arrived, he didn't walk toward the house. He wanted to ride Mischief. She should be in good form - she hadn't been ridden for six months.

The little skewbald mare was overjoyed when he hopped on her back, and she knew that he wanted to play. She bucked and plunged and reared, and Harry laughed with joy, clinging to her back without apparent difficulty. An audience gathered. Chris and Melissa wore broad smiles. They hadn't seen the boss play like this in a long time. No-one rode like Harry rode. Beau watched closely, wondering how he wasn't thrown. His seat was completely wrong!

Bridon was one of two new security guards recently hired. He was tall, fair, and wildly goodlooking. Melissa's girls thought he was divine. He was scratching his head. He scarcely knew the boss, who'd listened as Chris interviewed him, and then given a casual nod, and welcomed him. He'd looked thin and worn then. He was still thin, but looked completely different now.

Mischief was in good form, but Harry wasn't. He was hurled from her back as she bucked as high as she could, and then put in a sudden twist.

For a moment, he was dazed, and Will came hurrying forward, elbowing Bridon aside. This was _his _job, looking after the boss when he was sick.

Harry wasn't much hurt, and smiled up at the big, ugly man, "The Dementors are gone, Will, really and truly gone! Even the Privileged One!"

Will wasn't quite sure what he meant, but the boss was happy, so Will was happy. He helped Harry to his feet, and Harry turned to Mischief, who was nuzzling him, confused. He never fell off. Harry hugged her neck, and whispered into her ear, "The Dementors are gone, even the last. It'll never, ever come back."

He was staggering, very tired. He was still thin and weak, and accepted Will's arm gratefully.

**x**


	16. Chapter 16

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 16:_

Both the new security guards got to know their boss a great deal better in the next couple of weeks, as Harry was seen outside a lot more. He rode Mischief every day, playing buckjumper, and galloping on the moors, often with a companion. Bridon and Astron were both trying to learn to ride, as riding a horse made them so mobile. Broomsticks would have been better, of course, but sometimes there were muggle visitors, and in any case, the place was too exposed to fly above the trees.

Cissy's pure-bred Andalusians were called into use more often now, with so many riding, and although Astron preferred a fairly staid chestnut mare, Bridon enjoyed looking peacocky on a dark grey Andalusian, one of Cissy's horses.

Kate finished school, with good results, and went off with her parents for a few weeks before deciding on a career. She still hadn't made up her mind.

Melissa's girls were all home for the summer holidays, and one day as Harry was swimming, he looked up and saw all three of the teenagers looking adoringly at Bridon, in brief swimmers, and showing off his muscles, while both Beau and Simon watched in frowning displeasure.

Harry's extended family frequently visited, finding him in good spirits, and sociable. There were a couple of redheaded nurses, his grand-daughters, who had looked after him for the second time, not very long before. Once it was known that he was welcoming visitors again, they had taken the first opportunity to visit.

Harry apologised to them for being such an awful patient. And he really had been awful - ungrateful, unresponsive, and even after he stopped starving himself, thoroughly irritable. But they were nurses, and Harry had been used by a Dementor. They were very pleased that he'd recovered. They'd seen several in the Dementor War, who hadn't.

Harry was feeling reassured, safe again - except that he started having wicked nightmares - ones that Julie couldn't soothe. And then he'd walk the grounds. Astron was doing a stint of night duty, and Harry and Astron had some long talks as they walked, or sometimes rode horses in the middle of the night. Astron was stocky, with sandy hair. He was apt to boast about the deep discussions he had with the boss in the early hours of the morning.

Julie was much happier now that Harry was happy again. She had never worried much that the Dementor would come back. She had heard it say that it would never come back, and as others had said, one tended to believe that what a Dementor communicated, was absolute truth. Hermione had understood Harry's terror of a return, and it took the Latvian evidence to convince her that it was going to be all right. Even then, she had a lingering doubt. But Harry was finally beginning to improve more quickly, and she did not share her doubt with Harry.

But Harry still sometimes doubted. It was a conscious decision on his part not to allow the remaining doubt to upset him. He had chosen life, and now he threw himself into life with as much enjoyment as he ever had.

Adrian asked to be taken to Diagon Alley. Just him and his father. He wanted an ice-cream at Fortescues, and he wanted to go to Flourish and Blotts, the bookstore. But Harry took him to a wizarding area in Paris instead. They stayed a few days, and the shops were just as intriguing as those in Diagon Alley. Harry failed to go unrecognised, and after the first day, he would find French and English aurors close by, keeping watch for them. He ignored them. He hadn't asked for them, and didn't particularly want them. No-one hissed him in France, although there were some fearful looks.

They couldn't go to Fortescues, but ate ice-creams in Paris, instead. The photographer took their photograph just as Adrian was telling him how one of the cats had bailed up Sambo, so that the great black dog had been cowering in a space too small for him under a chair. Harry was laughing, and Adrian, too. It was an attractive and happy photograph - so obviously father and son, both with an ice-cream in hand. Harry took no notice - people were always taking his photograph.

Adrian had a wonderful time. It was so special - just his father and himself.

When it was time to go home, Harry just sent their luggage home with a tap of his wand, wrapped an arm around the small boy, and they appeared in bright sunshine, in the apparation zone in the grounds of their home. Melissa came cantering over to him, looking harassed, as Harry looked at the gathering not far away. "They're reporters! If we throw them out, it'll only make us seem more interesting."

Harry was surprised and rather alarmed, "How did reporters find me here?"

Melissa said, "Not you, they're muggle reporters, for Beau and Simon. What'll we do?"

Harry was grinning now. "As far as I'm concerned, it's up to the boys. But remind them not to mention my name. They can say Chris is the boss if they want, or Kevin, or an absentee landlord or something."

Both Harry and Adrian were in very ordinary muggle clothing, and walked together toward the gathering. Melissa was talking to Beau and Simon. The reporters and photographers were not moving. Bridon was with them, a very large dog at his side. Beau was suddenly grinning, looking at the boss. It was so nice to feel important, especially here, where they'd grown up surrounded by powerful witches and wizards.

Harry lounged, leaning on a fence, as the boys talked enthusiastically about their show jumping, and their chances at Olympic selection. The reporters wanted pictures of the young men with their horses, and Jimmy and Harry went to get Tamara and Elliott. The boys posed next to the horses, and Harry went back to lean against the fence while the photographers went to work.

One of the reporters joined them, and asked Harry how they were to work for. Harry said casually that they got a bit tetchy once in a while, like all bosses, but that they were not too bad on the whole. Melissa was trying hard not to laugh, and Adrian was looking at Harry in some surprise. Harry squeezed his shoulder warningly, and when Adrian looked up, winked. Many wizards read muggle newspapers, and it would not be a good idea for it to be known that the Barnes brothers lived at Harry Potter's mysterious hidden home.

One of the reporters asked what other horses they had. Jimmy and Harry took Elliott and Tamara back to the paddock, Harry taking care to stay on the other side of the horse, not risking getting into one of the photos, and listened with appreciation as Simon boasted of the potential of a couple of the young horses that were coming on, especially a young black gelding called Bob, that Harry, too, liked to ride.

It was rather enjoyable having someone else the focus of attention for a change, although it could get to be a problem if Simon and Beau became too famous. But Harry thought that he might have to leave the country anyway. It was really very unpleasant to be hissed whenever he appeared in a wizarding area.

**x**

Afterward, Julie took Adrian to Diagon Alley, as he wanted. Astron and Jason went with them, to make sure that they were not subject to any unpleasantness. And this, too, was a treat for Adrian. He made some purchases in the Joke Shop, now owned by a nephew of Fred and George. The Weasley twins were both gone too now, dying suddenly within hours of each other, but the shop still stocked and sold Harry's inventions. They never had been labelled with his name, so there'd been no problem with the sales.

Julie was not as well known as her husband, but there was still some whispering and pointing. The presence of Astron and Jason had been prudent. Some of the aurors appeared close, too, and one wizard suddenly found himself flanked by Leopold and Leonard, with a stern warning that Mrs. Potter was not to be bothered.

Julie seldom went into bookstores, while Adrian loved them. But they were both stunned as they entered Flourish and Blotts to see an enormous poster of Harry fighting the Dementors, with piles of books underneath.

"Look! It's Dad!" said Adrian, and the treble voice immediately caught the attention of the proprietor, Merrick Blotts. Adrian continued, excitedly, "They're all books about Dad! We'll have to buy one of each."

Julie was looking a little anxious, and said, "Probably not a good idea - remember he's not very popular these days."

Merrick Blotts bustled over to them. "Mrs. Potter, isn't it?" and added that the books were all right, that they never stocked books that were horrible about Harry Potter. Her father had made it very clear before he died.

More aurors were outside, as they left the bookshop, and Julie raised her hand to Tracy and Louis. It worried her, though. Why did they need such heavy protection?

Adrian saw his big friend, and hurried across to him, showing him the three books he'd bought, all about his Dad. Julie joined them, as Tracy still looked all around, very alert.

Julie frowned. "Is there a problem?"

Tracy looked at her, worried. "It's the thing about the monster, still. It's getting worse and worse, even though Barbara's trying to clamp down on it."

Julie looked around herself, uneasy. There did seem to be a lot of people staring and muttering.

Julie said to Adrian that they'd best go, but Adrian was pointing. There was the Magical Creatures Shop, and Adrian begged for an owl. Julie nodded, though increasingly wanting to return to the safety and peace of home.

At home, Harry was sitting casually on Bob. He was watching two dark grey Andalusian mares cantering slowly, beautifully, together, knowing within every fibre of their bones that they were the royalty of horses. It was Cissy and Bridon, and Harry was wondering whether he was going to lose Bridon, or maybe have Cissy back. They certainly seemed very involved in each other.

The barking of dogs that quickly changed to wagging tails, had him turn to the apparation zone. Julie was carrying a bag of purchases, Astron held the cage with the owl, and Jason, who could apparate with a passenger, had Adrian next to him. Adrian held out his hands, and his owl was returned to him.

"Look Dad," he said, the moment his father was close enough. "It's a Snowy Owl, and I'm going to call her Hedwig, like the one you used to have."

Harry asked in surprise how he'd known about that, and Adrian said he'd read a book - the story of Harry's early life. It was a very old book and he'd found it in the library. And then he beckoned to Harry, and Harry slipped off his horse, and leaned down so that he could whisper, "Not the secret section of the library, I still haven't worked out how to get in there."

Harry stared at him in surprise and respect. No-one was supposed to know about the secret section! Even Julie and Hermione didn't know.

_ **x**_

Both Harry and Julie were getting quite tired of not being able to go out in public, except in muggle areas. And while Harry could apparate perfectly easily as far as he wanted, Julie could not. So when they received a pressing invitation from Julie's sister, Lyn, for them to stay for a couple of weeks, they were not averse. Harry so often found large gatherings rather boring. His fame meant that so many people wanted to fawn upon him, and he expected that he was to be shown off as much as possible by their hosts.

But somehow, being fawned upon didn't seem so bad any more. Much better than being hissed! And he owed them something. Three times now, Lyn and Jake had ungrudgingly looked after his wife when Julie had needed to be away from him. They were good people, and there are a lot worse faults than snobbery.

Lyn and Jake were as hospitable as always. Three sons of some friends were provided to help keep Adrian entertained, and there were a couple of excursions to horse-breeding properties close, that they thought would be enjoyable for Harry.

But by the third evening in a row when Julie told him which set of dress robes he was to don, and combed out his long hair to best effect, he was beginning to be restless. As usual, Julie apparated to coordinates, and Harry apparated to her side. Julie was always amused when he did this. Why didn't he just admit that he couldn't apparate to coordinates, instead of pretending it was just politeness that he always insisted she go first?

That evening after the first couple of hours, he made his escape, quietly slipping out the back, and wandering over to a group of a dozen young men. He introduced himself as Harry, and they accepted him as Harry. For a while they talked Quidditch, and then they talked about a muggle sport that Harry didn't know, and then they started complaining about their elders. How they all had to meet 'the great wizard,' who was probably not really that great.

Harry was quietly drinking his beer, half amused, half embarrassed. They obviously had no idea that the great wizard was wondering how best to escape an increasingly awkward situation.

Then they started talking about the Dementors he was supposed to have destroyed. None of the young men had ever seen a Dementor, and were not even quite sure that they existed. Tom turned to Harry, and said that he was English, had he ever seen a Dementor.

Harry admitted that he had, and asked if they taught the Patronus Charm in American schools. They didn't know what it was, and Harry demonstrated. Before long, he was deep involved in teaching. He thought that every witch and wizard should know the Charm, and he agreed with Nathan and Timothy that there was no way that anyone could know for sure that the Dementors had really gone.

Tom was watching him as he paced in his enthusiasm, telling Nathan that he only had to try a bit harder, and he'd have his animal. "You're him, aren't you?" he said, suddenly.

Harry looked rather shame-faced, and nodded. "Sorry, I didn't mean to mislead you - but it was awfully boring in there!"

Some were laughing, but Tom was increasingly angry, feeling that he'd been made a fool of. And maybe he'd had a little too much to drink. He said, loudly and aggressively, that he was probably not nearly as great as he was made out to be, and he bet that he couldn't beat Tom in a duel. Harry said as he always did when someone was this silly, that he didn't duel, and Tom and a couple of others started calling him coward. Harry looked at them, surprised. Coward?

He looked back at the belligerent young man, and suddenly a grin of anticipation crossed his face. "I'll fight you muggle style, if you like."

Tom looked down his nose, "Don't be silly, you carry a cane! You can't fight."

Harry's grin grew a touch more fierce, "Oh, I can fight! I just don't duel, but I'll take you on with pleasure, muggle style!"

Tom drew his wand, which flew straight out of his hand.

"Muggle style, I said!" said Harry, and with a roar of fury, Tom threw himself at him. Harry dodged so that Tom stumbled past. But Tom whirled at him, even angrier.

Harry dodged again and again as fists came flying. Wizard or not, it seemed that Tom might have had some experience at muggle duelling. He certainly had plenty of enthusiasm.

Harry's speed of reflex was becoming very obvious, and he suddenly hit, not very hard, a couple of shrewdly aimed blows that took Tom's breath away. Harry still had his cane in his left hand, but as he swiftly stepped to the side, he tripped on a stone, lost his balance and fell. Tom was on top of him, holding him down with his weight, and hammering hard into his side, the only place he could reach.

Harry kept his head, took the punishment briefly, and suddenly threw himself to the side, freeing himself and leaping to his feet again. He never had enjoyed rolling in the dirt. He still grinned. He hadn't done this in so long! Tom was up, too, a lot more cautious, now. Harry suddenly lashed out, and tapped him quite gently on the chin, easily dodging the follow up blow.

An onlooker called, "Watch out, Tom, It's your Mum!"

Harry looked up, too. "Damn, it's my wife. Where can we hide?"

The onlookers were in hysterics as the fighters both looked so suddenly fearful, but Nathan said, "This way," and they were both out of sight by the time Tom's mum and Harry's wife reached the group who were now rather stiffly talking about Quidditch.

Tom and Harry looked at each other, and the great wizard and the belligerent boy were shaking with laughter. It was Nathan's home, and he took them to a bathroom, and they each had a quick shower, dabbed some ointment on bruises, cleaned their robes with magic, and pretended they had never dreamt of doing anything so barbaric as muggle fighting.

Harry said reluctantly that he'd better go back inside, or Julie'd go crook. Nathan asked if they could go in with him, as his parents would be pleased that he was on speaking terms with the great wizard, and Tom added, "Yeah, me, too."

Harry grinned. "Sure," and then asked Nathan what was the sneakiest way of reappearing. In the end they agreed on a spot, and apparated to it, a spot on the other side of the crowd from where they'd seen Tom's mum and Harry's wife disappearing.

Julie was suspicious when she saw her husband innocently talking to the American Minister for Magic, and with a couple of youths at his side. What had her unpredictable husband been up to? She'd never seen her husband fight, although it was a part of the legend. She thought he'd long grown out of it.

Harry was still not fully well, and the fight, while satisfying, had made him tired. But when he went to Julie and suggested that it was enough of partying, he chose to whisper about bed for a different purpose. Julie looked at him, saw immediately that he was looking tired, and agreed.

Harry slept well that night, but Julie was still wakeful. She watched his face in the dim light. He was looking very contented. Julie reached out and gently touched his hair. He'd put her through some difficult times, but she wouldn't trade him, even if he had been up to mischief, as she suspected.

He didn't have a nightmare that night, for a change. And George, the security guard who'd seen him every night so far, as he walked off his agitation, missed him.

The last week of the fortnight in America was a lot more fun for Harry. Tom, Nathan and Timothy didn't forget him, and he joined the young men several times, mostly during the day when Lyn and Julie went shopping, or lunching with female friends. He even went to a match of the muggle sport that they'd been talking about, and became almost as enthusiastic at the football match as when he watched Quidditch. He noticed a couple of American aurors trying to be inconspicuous nearby, but ignored them. He knew he was being watched, or watched over. But he felt in no danger here.

**x**

Events had moved fast at home, during the two weeks they'd been away. Cissy and Bridon were engaged, they were going to move in to the property next door that had come up for sale, and were going to breed pureblood Andalusians. Harry blinked as the revelations followed one after another. It sounded good to him, and Cissy was obviously radiantly happy.

There was something that directly affected him. Cissy and Bridon wanted to get married as soon as possible, and they wanted Harry to do the next month's overseas work for Cissy so they could have a honeymoon. The work at Ben's could be put on hold for a time.

"Suits me," said Harry, "As long as the Ministry wants me, of course."

Cissy kissed him, and Bridon shook his hand, and he too was radiant with happiness, looking at his fiancée with pride and pleasure.

Then and there Cissy and Harry went to the Ministry offices to see Ginny. Ginny said she didn't think it would be a problem, but went to check with Sarah, Catherine and Jebedee as they waited. Catherine came striding into the office.

"Madam Diefenberger," she nodded. Cissy was very highly respected. And then her gaze turned to Harry. "I'll have to check you over before I give permission. You've been sick."

Harry didn't deny he'd been sick, but protested crossly that they never put Cissy through this nonsense, and that Catherine had promised not to fuss. And now she was fussing as much as Jodie had, and nearly as much as Therese.

"Harry!" Catherine said, and the monster followed her meekly to her office.

Catherine did her checks, more thoroughly than usual. LV 130, she stated. Far too thin again. But then she gave her nod. "It'll be good to work with you again."

Harry was still cross. "You said that you wouldn't fuss, remember. Said I was spoilt, and that I'd probably had too much attention paid to me all my life. You weren't going to fuss!"

"I never said that to you!" Catherine said in surprise, and watched him as he blushed bright red. She hadn't said that to him, she'd just been thinking the first time they met, and he'd heard. And suddenly Catherine was laughing. "Is that why you gave me such a big smile at that first meeting? You heard what I was thinking?"

Harry was very embarrassed, but Catherine was laughing, and hugged him. "Don't worry about it, and I'll try not to fuss."

The next job was to pay for a wedding and wedding present. But when Harry wandered into Margaret's office this time to ask whether he had enough money to do what he wanted, he had another surprise. It appeared that Simon now knew a lot more about his affairs than he did. "You're going to hire him, of course," Margaret said severely.

Harry said, "Um, I suppose so," and hoped that he wouldn't have young Simon telling him what to do, as Margaret always had.

It appeared that he still had enough money, and he wandered away again, leaving Simon rather stunned. It was just what Margaret had said. "Have I got enough money?" And he accepted Margaret's answer without apparently wanting any further details at all. The boss was something else.

There was a week off before Cissy's month of work was due to start, and Harry had the leisure to inspect the property next door. He'd known it well at one time, when a friend called Max had lived and died there.

He was very enthusiastic about the plans to breed Andalusians, and nearly bought them an incredibly expensive stallion that week, until Cissy managed to restrain him. They were not nearly ready to look after a stallion! They were only going to start with the three grey mares she already owned, the pure-bred daughters of Senorita.

Harry asked about Senorita's half-breed ponies, the two little black mares that the Pinto had sired. But Cissy was only interested in the purebreds. She chose a couple of riding horses, though, for herself and for Bridon. She couldn't have Elliott or Tamara, or the three young ones that Simon and Beau had been working on, but there were others.

Harry was tempted to take himself to a horse sale again when he thought about losing so many horses, the paddocks were going to look almost empty. When he mentioned it to Jimmy Carr, though, he was firmly told that there were no horse sales for a long time, and there were still plenty of horses left, and more coming on all the time. Jimmy knew his boss and horse sales - he was a sucker for all those destined for the meat man, and there were already several horses in the Old Horses' Paddock.

Cissy wanted her wedding at Harry's place. Harry knew Bridon's parents, Stan and Lorraine Pickering, but for security reasons, Bridon's brothers and sisters were not invited. He had so many enemies these days, though he thought none were actually trying to kill him. Astron was to be best man - he and Bridon had been best friends all their lives.

The home was decorated, the sun shone, flowers were everywhere. A muggle celebrant from the local village was used, and Harry acted the father as his young relative went to her bridegroom, the tall and goodlooking son of a man he'd once broken a spell for. Cissy and Bridon had a pretty wedding, exchanged their vows with feeling, and left on their honeymoon.

Two days later, revelations appeared in the Daily Prophet. The highly respected Madam Cissy Diefenberger was now the 'Child of Incest,' and 'Monster Spawn.' Some digging had been done, and the ancestry of Cissy had been looked into quite deeply. It was asserted that Cissy's mother, Iris, was a daughter of a son and a daughter of Harry Potter. Incest.

Harry glanced at the nonsense, and didn't read it. His daughters, Margaret and Victoria, looked closely at the evidence, and counted it very possible. If true, and with Cissy's father also being a probable son of Harry's, it was amazing that Cissy was apparently perfectly healthy.

Harry may have discounted the assertion about that extra relationship, but he was distressed that his detractors had turned their attention to Cissy, and decided that he'd best show her Sirius Black's place, as she, too, might need the secure hiding place.

**x**


	17. Chapter 17

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 17:_

Harry was still not really well, thin, and became tired far more easily than he was accustomed to. There were experiments he wanted to make, but thought he'd best wait. He wanted to practise whipping up the strong magic far more quickly, so that it would be a more instant weapon, and he wanted to see if he could raise the strong magic, and then apparate without losing it.

He didn't know whether either of these things were possible, and was a little apprehensive about the second. It could be dangerous. He had a friend, Zack, in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, who was experienced at sorting out problems of apparation gone wrong. He thought he'd organise Zack to be present when he tried that second experiment. Sometimes, of course, problems could not be sorted out. But he was eighty-nine, after all, and everyone has to die sometime.

Harry was confident that the Dementors were not coming back. He told himself every day that he was confident, and he now mostly acted as if he was confident. But his habit of carefully scanning the sky every now and then had not vanished, and those experiments he wanted to do were with the aim of defeating the Privileged One, in case it still lived.

Adrian returned to school. He had some good friends at the muggle school, especially Connor Maguire, who lived not far away. He firmly turned down the idea of being educated by his parents rather than going to school. Harry had been thinking of travelling, or maybe moving to another country, seeing he was not wanted any more by his own. But Adrian was happy just where he was.

The month of work started. Harry had given up these trips with relief when Cissy was first able to take over. The spell-breaking had become boring, and he'd still rather be teaching. On the other hand, the aurors were no longer annoying and unwanted spies and bodyguards as they had often seemed at the beginning, they were friends and companions.

Sometimes Julie might be able to come with him, mostly he'd go home every night.

The first week was Finland. Harry preferred to do the coldest countries in the warmest months. He hated slippery ground. He remembered with pleasure the bobsleigh the previous November though, not knowing that it was the radiation of his pure joy and excitement that had called the attention of the Privileged One back to its morkon.

Tina and Peter, both around thirty, had been rostered to Cissy, but Jebedee added Franz and Grant, because it was Harry. Harry thought it was silly that they thought he needed any more protection than Cissy did, but Jebedee was worrying whether it was enough. They were getting so many threatening letters now. Barbara was holding firm, refusing to give way to the pressure. A certain witch called Bernadette had been disciplined, and there had been some all-staff meetings, at which it was firmly stated that anyone found hissing or otherwise harassing Harry Potter would be in big trouble.

It was quite a long trip by muggle aeroplane this time, and Harry joined the pilot for a while, and listened as Barry Smith spoke about having been to school with the current prime Minister, and protecting 'Stinky' from the bullies. Barry was a big man, with an air of knowing it all. His stories were entertaining, and Harry enjoyed his company.

On arrival, there were some officials to greet them, but Harry's hatred of speeches was very well known by this time, and he only had to shake a few hands before they were taken to the hotel.

Back in England, Ginny had some rearranging to do. Germany had said that, on the whole, they'd really rather wait for Madam Diefenberger if they didn't mind, but Ginny just sorted through the list of other requests, and Spain was moved forward. Most countries seemed to be over their worries about Harry being an unnatural monster, and their citizens just wanted a look at him. A few foolish young men fantasised about duelling with him, and quite a lot of foolish young women fantasised about going to bed with him.

Harry was rather taken aback at the crowds that filled the street as they walked toward the rooms where he'd work his magic. He paused, scanning the faces that all stared at him. He didn't feel any indications of threat. There was mostly just an intense curiosity.

Franz was nervous of attack and said for him to hurry up. Harry obediently hastened his steps, but was shaking his head. "I don't know how to behave! It's as if they're just waiting for me to do something outlandish!"

"Be grateful they're not hissing," said Tina, on his other side.

Peter was just behind, and he was big, strong and athletic, just like his wife, Tina. Harry was accustomed to being surrounded by men much bigger than himself. This time even the woman was bigger than himself.

The Finnish Coordinator had been doing some rearranging. A small number of the patients booked in for Cissy had cancelled, in fear of the great wizard, but Harry had done no spell-breaking since before Christmas, and there was an accumulation from several countries, that Cissy had not been able to do. The schedule for each day had been expanded. Harry was going to work for his money this week. Most of Finland's team of aurors would be employed in crowd control, but they were still enjoying the prestige of having the services of the great wizard.

The clients needing his services were more nervous than usual, but Harry just cured them with a casual wave of his wand, not bothering even to mutter the words any more. He worked through the list very quickly, and was easily ahead by afternoon tea. He took his coffee, and a bread roll, and joined Franz outside, to his annoyance.

"You're much safer inside," he said.

Harry scanned the crowd, as he had before. "No-one's trying to kill me today," he said, "And I like to see the sky."

Franz grunted. A witch in the crowd suddenly broke past a Finnish auror, and raced toward Harry. Harry watched unmoved as Franz drew his wand.

"She's just a silly girl," Harry said, "Wants to boast she got to touch!"

But he turned and went back inside, and the young witch slowed and stopped before one of the aurors stopped her a lot more roughly.

The last three of the day were clients that Cissy had been unable to cure. Harry didn't know that they were anything different than normal, and only needed a small amount of extra effort for one. The dozen observers felt a slight tingle in the air. The observers included some very important Ministry officials, but Harry ignored them, any perceived rudeness being explained away by the aurors as the great wizard having to concentrate.

Tuesday and Wednesday, Harry had to work harder, using the strong magic three times on Tuesday, and twice on Wednesday before saying in a matter-of-fact way that he'd try the telepathic cure from then on, whenever needed.

It was a wizard from Germany, name of Lindemann, and the spell felt as if it had been put on by more than one wizard. Harry was a bit suspicious, as twice before, when he'd met a client like this, it had been a way of catching him off guard. And while Catherine started talking to Lindemann, warning him of what to expect, Harry wandered out to talk to Franz.

Franz took notice of him, and had a word with the Finnish aurors, then joined Tina in the room with Harry. There was an increased tension among the aurors outside, too, just in case. Harry felt for the spells more carefully than normally, this time, just standing, looking into space, and concentrating.

The spells were easy to feel, but there was something deeper, but a lot more subtle, behind them. Lindemann didn't seem to feel his intrusion, luckily, and Harry quietly removed the suggestion that had been magically planted in his mind, before finding the trigger point, and allowing the man's own sense of what he should be to restore him to that state.

Harry explained to Lindemann that his mind had been interfered with, and that a suggestion had been planted, which was now removed. Franz was listening closely, and Harry turned to him casually, and asked if he wanted to investigate further, or let the man go, that Lindemann, himself, was not guilty of anything.

"What was the suggestion?" asked Franz.

"That the moment I'd fixed him, he was to try and curse me, or kill me in any other way possible."

Franz said that of course they wanted to investigate further, and that Harry was preferably not to go home yet. Harry agreed, saying that he'd already intended to stay a couple of hours before apparating.

Franz and a Finnish investigator questioned Lindemann in the hotel sitting room that the team had been allotted while Harry relaxed, feet up, and ate some of the food he'd ordered from room service. He offered some to the others, including Lindemann. It wasn't his fault, and when Lindemann looked embarrassed and shamed, he said casually not to worry, someone had done it to him once, and he'd never have known if it was not for an old and wise professor.

There was no progress made in working out who was responsible, and Lindemann was eventually dismissed. Harry had still not moved, and only checked his watch. Franz eventually asked if he was going home or not. Harry said that he hadn't made up his mind, that he was a bit tired.

Franz cast a meaningful glance at Tina, who hurried off to call Catherine. Harry looked up as she left, a frown crossed his face, and he rose, said casually to Franz that he'd see him tomorrow, and disapparated. Franz shook his head. He had a strong suspicion that Catherine would have forbidden him to apparate. Harry suspected the same thing, but nevertheless arrived perfectly safely at home.

Thursday morning, he was still a bit weary, and complained bitterly when Catherine took the Niscos and weight the minute he arrived. But she only said severely that he was not to use the strong magic that day.

"I didn't intend to," said Harry, airily, as if he never had been so foolish as to exhaust himself to the point of collapse. He took himself off for a second breakfast. He seemed always hungry these days.

Franz tapped Catherine on the shoulder when he had the chance, took her aside, and asked her just how fit Harry was.

"Only about half fit - and he's still enormously more powerful than Madam Diefenberger, or anyone else!"

Franz asked her if she had any idea what had caused his illness, and when Catherine said blandly that she had no idea, he stated that it was his job to look after Harry, and that he should be told. Catherine suggested he ask Jebedee. She agreed he had a point She'd only been told herself at the last minute because Jebedee had decided that the healer needed to know. He seemed to be making a good recovery now - the LV was higher every time she measured, even though the energy levels were currently low.

Franz and Tina flanked Harry as he left the hotel for the short walk to where they worked, and again, there was a crowd. It was a muggle hotel - the staff had come to the conclusion that they were entertaining some sort of a popstar or movie actor, and some of the female staff agreed that he was dreamy, and probably a film star.

Harry stopped halfway, and looked at the crowd, and then turned his eyes to the sky. Franz and Tina drew their wands. There were too many people, and all of them had their attention centred on him.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Franz.

"I can't tell who it is," said Harry, "But I think maybe we should just apparate from here."

_Probably frightened of Dementors_, thought Tina, who hadn't missed that scan of the sky.

"Don't be silly," said Harry, again carefully watching the crowd, "I just think it's one of those people waiting an opportunity to curse me, but I can't tell which one."

Tina still had her mouth open. He had answered her, and she hadn't spoken. It was pure accident, Harry was concentrating on the crowd, and her thought had been as clear to him as words.

"We can't apparate here," said Franz, "We're in a muggle area."

"What then?" said Harry.

But his eyes had narrowed on a particular wizard, and he sent an anti-disapparation spell, before pointing him out to Franz. The wizard had no reason to think that he'd been detected. Harry's telepathic skills were not nearly as well known as his pure power, but Harry had rather given up pretending that he was ordinary.

"Just watch him," he said, as he started to walk again. The wizard suddenly drew his wand, and the wand flew out of his hand. "See?"

But Tina had already stunned the wizard, and Finnish aurors had also moved in. Franz thought that Harry was totally taking it for granted, and so he was. A single wizard trying to curse him when he was ready, never stood a chance.

That day, although he never used the strong magic, he decided he was too tired to go home anyway, and made his way to the bedroom that had been scarcely used. He'd warned Julie even before he'd left that morning, that he might very likely not be back that night. He'd become more and more tired the last few days, and was regretting agreeing to the four weeks straight. He guessed he was still just not well enough.

His suitcase was still on the floor as he'd left it Monday. So far, it had not been needed.

At dinner, Tina asked him about the suggestion that had been planted in the mind of Lindemann, and Harry explained how it could be done.

Peter said questioningly, "You said that once someone had done that to you?"

They didn't really expect him to answer, he so seldom spoke about his early life. But Harry said, "I was to start behaving more and more irrationally, and then the Ministry would have a real excuse to have me committed as insane, as they'd already tried to do."

Tina said in a hushed voice, "They tried to have you committed? How did they dare?"

"I was only twenty-four - they thought they'd get me before I learned too much."

"The Ministry!" said Tina.

Harry nodded, "The Ministry!" He rose from the table to go and see if he could wangle a second dessert for himself, and when he came back, he only wanted to talk about horses, which he knew would soon turn the others' attention away from himself.

Grant guarded his door that night, but Franz had not undressed, and Grant was to call him if Harry was up in the night. When he heard a strangled cry from within Harry's room, he checked first with his listening device, and then knocked on Franz's door across the passage.

In his room, Harry was white-faced, shaking, sitting on the edge of the bed, and wishing he felt fit enough to apparate outside to slip the aurors. He needed to walk, hard and fast, before he would have any chance of sleeping again. He was still shaking when he emerged from his room, fully dressed, but rather surprised to find that he was to have two escorts.

"Just going walking," he said, in a would-be casual voice, but his eyes were wide-open, and still seeing horrors.

"I'll walk with you," stated Franz. "Grant will stay back, and keep a watch." Grant nodded, and Harry didn't object.

Franz was over fifty, his hair grizzled grey, but he was still fit and had no trouble keeping up as Harry tried to walk out his disturbance. After an hour, though, his breath was coming with more difficulty, and Harry, too, was getting tired, although not ready to go back to the hotel. They turned instead, into an all-night bar. Franz went in first, but Harry paused before entering, and looked all around him at the dark sky. It was quiet, only a few patrons at this hour of the night.

Grant poked his head in, but Franz indicated, and he retreated outside.

"It's a bit cold," protested Harry.

Franz just said, "He's an auror. Aurors do what they're told."

Harry knew. He'd suffered a few times because aurors were sometimes too apt to do what they were told.

He wasn't in a conversational mood, just sitting with a drink in hand at a table, with Franz, both of them silent. Franz was thinking about what Catherine had said - 'Half-fit,' and Franz wondered again what had happened. Without preliminaries, he asked.

Harry gave him a shadowed look, and Franz thought that he'd have no answer, but Harry said, "Don't spread it around."

Franz said, "Of course not."

But then it was like Harry had forgotten him again, and Franz prompted, "Well?"

Harry sighed, and said, "It was a Dementor, just one, the first, the Privileged One that we saw in Bulgaria. It had help, and Julie and Adrian were present."

"You couldn't kill it?"

Harry shook his head. "I can only kill a Privileged One if I can call up the strong magic, and it gave me no chance."

"You said it had help?"

Harry nodded. "Seven German aurors!" and a grin suddenly crossed his face. "Experienced aurors, every one, and Adrian disarmed two of them!" Harry was obviously more comfortable boasting about his son, and Franz allowed him to do so for a while.

But then Harry fell silent again.

Franz waited, and after a while, Harry continued, "It said that it would go to join the rest of its kind in death as soon as it had what it wanted, and there was firm evidence that it did die. That's what I was shown that day I came into the Ministry."

"So you don't have to worry about it, ever, any more."

Harry repeated his words, "I don't have to worry about it, ever, any more - and I don't have to worry that it might go for my family, especially Adrian, if it could not get me, if I were dead, for instance."

Harry was looking at his drink, but suddenly rose and bought some of the light snack food that's always available in Finnish bars. After offering some to Franz, he ate a little before starting again, quite slowly, to talk.

"Julie saw it as a rape. It was so cruel making them watch. Even if they could argue that the rest of it was justified, a means to an end, that was not."

Franz casually reached for some of the food, and that was a means to an end, too. Harry so seldom spoke about those things that affected him most deeply.

Harry continued with difficulty, "It would have been so much better if they'd taken Julie and Adrian away once it had me helpless."

Franz asked. "Why did they want them there in the beginning?"

"They were to call me, so I'd come, and then, once I was there, I couldn't fly away, because it might go for my family. Ben and Alex were there, too. They even provided an ambulance! it seemed the Dementor wanted me kept alive."

"I thought Alex knew something," said Franz, "He wouldn't say a word, though."

Harry grinned, but without humour. "Good. It's a rather shameful thing to be a favourite snack for a Dementor." And he put down the snack food he'd been eating with a sudden motion almost of disgust.

They were both silent for a while, then Franz commented on the suddenness of Madam Diefenberger's marriage.

Harry said, "They didn't want a long engagement. I don't blame them, I'm not a fan myself!" And then he started talking with humour, about Bridon Pickering, who had flaunted his good looks, had all the girls enthralled, and had forgotten it all the moment he saw Cissy. He was beginning to show enthusiasm, "They're going to breed Andalusians - horses that is," he added, seeing the look of incomprehension on the face of Franz. "We're going to Spain the week after next, I'm going to see if Julie can come, and as soon as I've finished each day, we can go and see a horse stud. I've promised to buy them a stallion, but I just need to look around, see what's available."

Franz put a good face on things, and said, "Well, that'll be different!"

Harry grinned at him, "Will you still be team leader?"

Franz nodded, "For the four weeks, but from next week, Patrick and Fred replace Tina and Peter."

Harry suddenly remembered Grant, on guard outside, and probably half-frozen, and picked up the packet of remaining snack food, handing it to Grant before they started walking back. And even now Franz noticed that he scanned the sky carefully before starting walking. He seemed a lot happier now, though, as he told Grant about the beauty of Andalusians.

Grant cast a look at Franz, who raised his eyes to the sky. Wizards were supposed to ride broomsticks, or apparate, not ride horses like a muggle!

Harry chose to work the telepathic cure when he struck a couple of difficult ones on Friday, and was fit enough to apparate home afterwards, not bothering to go by aeroplane as the others did.

Julie kissed him as he arrived, still wearing his cape. "Adrian's got his mate Connor here," she said. "Jimmy Carr's giving them both a riding lesson."

Harry cast a look of curiosity toward the door, but his gaze came back to his wife, and he murmured in her ear, "I've missed you..."

Julie giggled, "We can't, not now, and Adrian might catch us!"

"I know a place where they won't catch us," said Harry, and Julie looked at him and caught her breath. Harry was irresistible when he wanted to be. Her breath coming faster, Julie nodded. The secret bedroom, in a place where there was quite obviously no room for a bedroom, was strangely and garishly decorated, making it obvious to Julie that Harry had done it himself, but the bed was waiting, and they'd been apart.

Julie dozed afterward, a smile of contentment on her face, but Harry kissed her awake, "Sorry," he said, "But we'll be missed if we stay out of sight too long."

They went out afterward to watch the riding lesson. Adrian was on old Pinto, who still seemed to have a lot of energy to misbehave, but Connor was on Midnight, a beautifully mannered black pony. They were just finishing, and Harry met Connor, a freckle-faced boy with a nasty burn mark on his face.

Connor was looking eager. "Mr. Carr says I can ride one of your ponies in the gymkhana tomorrow if you say it's OK."

Harry thought of complications when he conjured the table and chairs, but Adrian was looking just as eager as Connor, and he agreed, smiling. It was important to have friends.

There was the usual expedition the following day. Two little black mares, Benita and Midnight, and Pinto. Pinto was very old, but knew the novelty events backwards, and was apt to win them even when the child on his back totally forgot to steer, as Adrian tended to do now and then. Simon and Beau had Bob, and another young horse, a bay gelding called Jack, for the show jumping. Tamara and Elliott were having a holiday. This was only a small gymkhana, suitable for Bob and Jack's first experience. Harry was still tired, and not quite well, and Jason and Melissa were helping.

He didn't even watch most of the time, just sitting in the gentle sunshine, and talking to whatever horses were closest. He dozed for a time, until Pinto untied himself and suddenly snorted straight into his face, waking him with a start. Pinto apparently thought he should be working, but it was taking a long time for his usual overflowing energy to return.

He roused himself, and re-tied Pinto, telling him severely to stay there. Pinto watched him walking toward the ring, and again started working on the knot.

Thanks to Pinto, Harry was watching as Simon on Jack came to grief in a nasty fall.

"Oh, no," the commentator was saying, "It looks like Simon Barnes' young horse may have broken its leg."

Simon was getting to his feet, shaking a spinning head, and looking frantically for the boss. He reckoned the boss could fix up Jack, even he had broken a leg.

Harry beat the vet to the horse, felt the leg, closed his eyes, concentrating, feeling through the horse what was wrong. He was not elbowed to the side, Connor's father just watched as he hushed the horse, gently touched the pastern, made a little magic, and the bone was healed.

Jack nickered to him, and Harry kissed him on the forehead. "It's all right," he said, "You'll be fine," and he caressed up and down the leg again, easing the bruising.

Simon suddenly sat. He felt dizzy.

"Can I feel the leg," Ian Maguire said, with some respect, after introducing himself. He'd been sure that bone was broken.

Harry stood back, but needed to use his cane to keep his balance, as Jack suddenly nudged him again. Simon got to his feet again, he was feeling better, but the vet walked close to his side as they headed toward the gate. Jack followed Harry closely, nudging him now and again, each time almost making him fall.

"You've got my son with you today," said Ian.

"Connor's a great boy."

"He's got two ribbons with that pretty mare of yours, one in the pairs with Adrian, and another."

"Midnight has unusual breeding - out of an Andalusian mare, sired by an escaped pinto pony stallion."

"Not the one that was notorious around here ten years or so ago, got to Octagonal Rose!"

Harry nodded, "That's the one," and turned to Simon, "How are you going? Can you make it?"

They were out of the ring now, and Simon was staggering slightly.

"I'll walk with you," said Ian.

"Thanks," said Harry.

Jack nudged him in the back again, and Harry staggered and turned to him, "Would you stop that, Jack! You'll have me over!"

He turned again to Ian, "That pinto stallion we were talking about, he's about nineteen, and has won three ribbons for Adrian so far today - and here he is!"

The little horse trotted up to him, looking pleased with himself. "How about you hop onto him, Simon," said Harry, "If you're a bit heavy it might make him think twice before he unties himself next time."

The pinto looked rather dubiously at the lanky young man who scrambled onto his back, but Ian took the reins of Jack, and Harry walked with Simon, who was still a bit pale.

Simon was settled in a chair and left to recover, while Harry loosened the girth for Jack, and retied Pinto, asking him this time to please at least _pretend_ to be restrained.

Ian said casually that he had a beeper if he was needed, and sat down beside Harry. He was intensely curious about this man, and Harry was becoming a little wary. Muggles were not supposed to know about wizards, and there were enough clues here to show that he was not quite a normal man, though he didn't think he would have seen that he'd healed the horse's broken leg.

Jason turned up then, with Jimmy, and Harry introduced them to Connor's father. Jason was saying that the boys were at the ice-cream stand, and that Adrian wanted to try Benita in the show jumping for his age group.

Harry frowned. "Has he been practising?"

Jimmy said he'd done a bit, and the jumps were very low. "Not Connor, though," Jimmy added, "He's not had enough practice."

Jason turned to Jack and started unsaddling him. "Bob did well," he remarked. "Beau's thrilled with him."

"I guess I'll lose Bob now then," said Harry. "Who'm I going to ride when I want to go fast?"

"There's a two year old that's looking fast," Jimmy said, "So don't think of buying yourself a racehorse or anything. There are too many horses already!"

Melissa arrived then, an ice-cream in hand. "Here you are, boss," she said, "It's already beginning to melt, though."

Harry smiled and thanked her, before introducing her to Ian, Connor's Dad.

"Jack all right?" Melissa asked. "It was a nasty fall."

"A bit sore," said Harry, "Ian's the show vet, by the way."

Jason was finished fussing over Jack, and the Pinto was obediently staying tied now that the humans were close enough to entertain him. Jason got into the back of the horse float, and started conjuring and handing down more chairs, and a couple of tables to Melissa. Ian got up to help, but Harry distracted him by pointing toward the approaching boys, and asked if he thought that Adrian's pony was favouring one foot. Melissa was now spreading red and white checked tablecloths, and Jimmy took the picnic baskets from Jason.

Beau rode up on Bob then, the black horse prancing and pleased with himself, a large ribbon attached to his bridle. "A First," he said. "He's brilliant!"

Harry didn't get up, but whistled softly, and Bob walked to him, and lowered his head, to be made a fuss of.

Ian's beeper went off, and he listened briefly and excused himself.

"Come back for lunch, if you want," said Harry. "I'm sure we've got plenty."

Ian raised a hand and strode off. It seemed that his son had got himself into unusual company, but they seemed pleasant enough.

Melissa conjured a special table for Harry and for Simon, both of whom were looking pale and tired. Harry was still hungry. He was always hungry.

After lunch, almost everyone dispersed, leaving only Connor, Simon, and Harry. Four horses rested, Pinto freeing himself again, but only going to stand next to his friend, Bob. Adrian and Jimmy had gone off together, taking Benita for him to ride in the jumping class.

Connor was sitting next to Harry. Their backs were to the horse box, and Simon had his head back, using it as a headrest, his eyes closed. Connor was looking at Harry. "Mr. Potter," he said, "How'd you get that scar on your face?"

Harry touched the scar on his left cheek. "I fell off a horse when he put a foot in a rabbit hole," and glanced at the boy beside him, "And you?"

Connor said that he was in a car accident, and had been burnt.

"We all get scars as we go through life," said Harry, "Sometimes they're on our faces or bodies, and sometimes they're inside where people can't see them so easily." And he said, musing, "I think the ones inside might be the worst ones."

Connor said, "At school, they call me scarface."

Harry said, "Grownups are mostly more polite." But not always, the monster thought to himself.

Connor was already feeling comforted.

Simon was listening closely, and pretended to doze. His boss was a bit of a mystery sometimes, and he wondered if it really was a fall from a horse that had made that scar on his cheek.

Connor was looking away, and his voice was strained. "Sometimes, I want to hide, so they can't see it."

Harry said, rather sadly, "Sometimes, it's very hard to be brave."

He reached out and touched the boy on the shoulder. "You want to know what I do when I have to be brave?"

Connor turned a questioning gaze on him.

"I have an ice-cream. There's nothing like something whose sole purpose is to be nice, to help a person be brave!"

Connor laughed at him, and Simon betrayed himself by laughing also.

Connor ran off then, to watch Adrian as he waited to pop Benita over some tiny jumps.

"Interesting philosophy of life, Boss," commented Simon, "If you need to be brave, have an ice-cream!"

Harry smiled, "There are worse philosophies - the trouble is that one is rarely warned in time, and there's not always an ice-cream shop around."

When Ian Maguire wandered back, alone, Simon was gone, and Harry had his head leaned back against the side of the horse float, dozing. The pinto was standing very close to him, and put himself between Ian and Harry as Ian approached. Ian thought that it was obvious now that Harry had been ill, his face was very thin, and he was looking sad. He turned his attention to Jack, then, running his hand down his leg until the pinto nudged him aside.

"As good as a guard dog, aren't you?" said the vet, quietly.

With a last curious glance at Harry, Ian went off. He knew the look of a horse with a broken leg, and he'd heard some strange rumours of the Potter family over the years. They were supposed to have lived there for three generations. They rarely socialised in the district, and it was only in the last years that they'd started going to horse shows. He was not worried about Connor in their company. Connor had been a lot happier since making friends with Adrian.

Harry slept two hours, even as the others came and went, as quietly as possible organising horses and riders for more events. The boys were having a wonderful time, both of them competing in Best Rider events, and both being unplaced, in spite of their pretty and well trained little horses. Adrian stayed on Benita as she popped over some tiny jumps, and he might even have had a ribbon if he'd taken them in the right order. Adrian loaned Pinto to Connor, and he won Connor a first in the bending race, to Connor's thrilled amazement. Only Jack was left to doze with Harry in the autumn sunshine.

Adrian and Connor decided between themselves that Connor would stay the night at Adrian's place, a decision which rather alarmed Harry when he was told. They'd have to be careful not to use magic, or otherwise betray themselves. His father would pick Connor up the following afternoon, Adrian told Harry blithely.

But Harry thought of his daughter Beth, when she'd been a child. The local children had hated her, and she'd not been able to go to school. This was a minor concern next to that.

That evening, Harry spoke to Julie about his discussion with young Connor. "I've been cowardly," he said. "It was stupid to hide myself out of sight just because of a bit of hissing and such. It's only made it worse."

Julie gave him a look askance. "Well, don't expect me to join you if you're going to take them on - it was horrible the way they looked at Adrian and me, the day we bought Hedwig."

"We could just start going to a few parties, to begin with."

Julie nodded grudgingly, and mentioned a wedding that was coming up. She was going to see who was invited first, though.

There were no problems on Sunday. Adrian and Connor roamed the estate, and the workers were warned that a muggle was staying, and they were to do no observable magic. Adrian did point out Luna's grave to Connor, but Connor did no sums, and didn't think twice about the matter. And later, when Ian arrived, Harry thoroughly enjoyed talking about his horses to someone who was not politely trying to conceal his boredom.

**x**


	18. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 18: _

Greece next. It was such a lovely spot they always stayed in Greece. They were to have six aurors this time, because of the death attempts and the crowds. It didn't really cost any more. It was quiet again at home, and the aurors had to be paid in any case. Accommodation and meals were always provided by the host country.

Harry didn't object. The previous week had made it clear that he was indeed under threat again, and the crowds would be an awful problem if they were not kept away. So there was the same team as the previous week, but instead of the original plan of replacing Peter and Tina with the young aurors, Patrick and Fred, they were just added.

Sarah came to see them off, and Harry asked her whether he was really still wanted when it was such a trouble for the host country to have him.

Sarah laughed. "They think it's an honour!" and added, "It's only here that you're currently not very popular, and no doubt people will get over that one day." And then she kissed him and told him not to worry about being a monster, people would soon come to realise he was no threat. They'd been close once, Harry and Sarah, though it had only lasted a couple of months.

Jebedee had been surprised when Franz said that Harry had told him about the Dementor attack, but pleased. It seemed to him a sign that Harry was getting over the attack emotionally as well as physically. It also meant that Harry regarded Franz as a trustworthy friend. Jebedee was beginning to think about retirement, and Franz was a likely prospect for the next head of the Auror Department.

Franz knew a lot more about the attack now, as Jebedee had called Alex into the office, and Alex was able to give him a detailed description, especially of the brief fighting that had preceded it. Jebedee told him, too, how close to death Harry had come afterward.

There was a difference in the arrangements. From now on, every attempt would be made to keep their planned destinations, and especially their accommodation, as quiet as possible. So when they arrived at their hotel near the beach, there were no crowds to hinder Harry deciding instantly to go for a swim before lunch. At first, no-one else was especially keen to join him, but Franz nodded to Fred, and Fred obediently went off to change.

Catherine came to join Franz, as he watched his charge, almost out of sight in the water. Fred stayed a lot closer to shore. Catherine had done her routine quick checks on the aeroplane coming over, and Harry had given her his routine frown.

"How is he?" Franz asked.

"Improving all the time," said Catherine. "It'll probably be months yet, though, according to Healer Granger."

Franz said, "I didn't think she practised any more. Isn't she quite old?"

"She lives at Harry's place, looks after whoever's there, and gets very well looked after in return, I suspect. She's eighty-nine."

The other eighty-nine year old emerged from the water, and negotiated the hard and narrow beach without too much trouble.

Tina was next to her husband, watching him when she should have been watching for danger. "Great body," she commented to Peter, who gave her a playful thump: "So've I!"

Harry took care that week, and only used his strong magic once when his client couldn't tolerate the telepathic approach. There were no attempts to kill him, though the place where he worked became known quite quickly, and crowds gathered. From then on, they apparated the short distance to their hotel, to keep it unknown if possible. He swam every day, and was able to go home every night, to his relief. He was still having terrible nightmares most nights, and it was less embarrassing when no-one guarded just outside his door.

On Wednesday afternoon, when he arrived home, he found that Julie had left the Daily Prophet prominently on the coffee table in the lounge room for him. _A YEAR ON! ARE THEY REALLY GONE? _were the headlines. The conclusion was that the Dementors were definitely gone. Wizardry would never have to worry again. There was even a mention that the Patronus spell would never be needed again, although it could be used for fun, to make a pretty silvery animal.

Harry paced the floor, agitated and unhappy. Then, for almost the first time in his life, he sent off an answer to something in the paper that concerned him. He put it in the form of a letter to the editor, and pointed out how difficult it was to prove the absence of something, how it was not known how Dementors bred or generated, that they were magical creatures, and could come back, even if, on the surface of things, it did appear that they might be gone. He finished with the emphatic message that the Patronus Charm should be treated as an essential part of every witch or wizard's education. He stated that without the Patronus, wizardry would be helpless against a revived population of Dementors.

The editor of the paper was stunned to receive this communication, doubting at first that it was genuine. Harry Potter never gave interviews, and had always apparently totally ignored what was said about him. Margaret Brown was able to assure the editor that it was a genuine communication from the great wizard, as he'd given it to her to send. She also dropped a hint that it would be wise to publish it exactly as it was written.

It was the front page item on the next issue, without, for a change, any derogatory comments about the monster. It was a matter of importance. Harry Potter's status as a reviled monster was put aside for a little, the Defence teacher at Hogwarts started teaching the Patronus again, and the article was copied, translated, and reproduced in wizarding newspapers all over the world. No-one thought that the Dementors really might come back, but no-one wanted to be caught defenceless if they did. The great wizard was taken seriously.

Jebedee, Franz and the other aurors saw it, of course. They were surprised. They thought that, like everyone else, Harry was convinced the Dementors were gone, especially including the last.

Harry was convinced the Dementors were gone, he thought, including the last. He kept the evidence of the death of the last Dementor in the drawer in his desk, with another document important to him, his Pardon papers. He'd read them again, now and then, just for reassurance.

That Saturday, Harry adjusted his cape, put Beth's old wand in his pocket, and apparated to Diagon Alley. He was going to stop hiding. He bought himself an ice-cream, sat with his back to the wall, and waited to see what would happen.

He still wore his hair long, on Julie's orders, and he was quickly recognised. A hostile crowd began to gather, but there were others, too. A couple of aurors appeared, Leonard and Leopold, whom Harry gave a casual wave to, but they were very alert, watching the crowd, and had no time for socialising. The alley was busy, and Harry found himself greeting friends and acquaintances, and started to enjoy himself. Maybe it wasn't so bad.

Meantime, Leopold called for help. He was becoming increasingly worried, and two more aurors appeared. Harry looked at them carefully, he didn't know those youngsters, and he liked to know the aurors, just in case any of them wanted to arrest him one day. Two more experienced aurors appeared. Jebedee in his office was getting thoroughly annoyed with Harry. What did the man think he was doing?

Harry had just had a chat with Sanaz, a beautiful woman whom he'd worked with years ago, when the quiet hissing that he was ignoring turned to louder jeers and catcalls. Harry rose, farewelled Sanaz, stretched, picked up his cane, and walked toward the crowd, most of whom were tripping over themselves trying to get out of the way.

To the horror of the aurors, Harry walked straight through the crowd as if he didn't notice its existence. He was actually very aware, very alert, even as he put on a pose of calm. The forehead scar was quite prominent, as it tended to be when he thought he might have to fight at any moment.

He had a drink in the Leaky Cauldron then, until Jebedee joined him.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

Harry smiled at him. "Want a drink?"

Jebedee was still angry. "No, I do _not _want a drink! What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?"

Harry had a swallow of his drink, acting as if he was totally relaxed, except that his eyes were very alert, and the forehead scar was still more pronounced than usual, as Jebedee noticed.

"I was talking to a nine year old boy last weekend. The kids at school call him scarface. We sort of decided that you can't hide. It's been a mistake keeping out of sight. And now they've started on Cissy, and I'm not putting up with that. I might be a monster, but they're just going to have to get used to having me around anyway."

Jebedee went and bought himself a drink. "If they really thought you were a monster, they wouldn't be game to provoke you."

"Thanks for agreeing that Julie can join us in Spain."

Jebedee grinned. "Franz was having a moan - it seems you intend to visit a horse stud every afternoon!"

"Only three, and they're all in muggle areas. There'll be no crowds, and it's most unlikely there'll be the slightest danger."

Harry was tired again, but didn't admit it, only saying that he must be off before Julie started worrying.

He did little the following day, as he expected Spain to be quite gruelling. He had reluctantly acknowledged to himself that he was still unwell. He didn't seem to be getting better very quickly either.

Patrick and Catherine joined the expeditions to see the horse studs, purely out of interest, while Grant and Franz watched for danger, to the surprise of the owners of the studs. Harry was overflowing with enthusiasm, and it looked like Cissy and Bridon might wind up with far more mares than they expected. There was a three-year-old colt, too, that Harry fell in love with. Surely he would be the best imaginable stallion for the new stud. But Cissy had given him firm orders, backed up by Julie. They were only to look. Any purchase had to be with her prior approval.

The aurors soon learned that he was still sleeping badly, even with Julie by his side. Twice he was up, walking hard in the night until he could be calm again.

He became more tired as the week progressed, as he had the previous two weeks. On the last day, when a client couldn't tolerate the telepathic cure, he paced back and forth for a few minutes, and then said, to Catherine's astonishment, that the client would have to come back another time.

The man started to protest, but was firmly led outside by Grant. Franz, too, was astounded. Harry had always thrown himself into his work, even when he wound up collapsed on the floor. When Catherine commented, he just said that maybe he was growing up. There was something else - he felt himself too vulnerable when he was too tired to apparate.

Catherine did her checks on the way home, noting them quietly in her notebook. Harry was just as thin, the energy levels were very low again, but the LV was still continuously rising.

**x**

He gave himself Saturday off, but on the Sunday, Harry decided it was time to do what he'd been putting off. He hadn't checked on Harry White for a long time. Again, he didn't explore the mind of White, just waited until he was seen, and disapparated. It appeared that White was quietly living with his wife in the small town of Roma.

White was left feeling thoroughly unsettled, knocked Rebecca to the floor, and then apparated to a much larger town, where he left another young girl scarred for life. But he changed his mind about certain plans he'd started to make.

Rebecca picked herself up and went about her work. She looked old. She thought she might die soon. She hadn't been married even two years.

_ **x** _

Harry had done what he perceived as his duty, and afterwards went to visit Draco Malfoy. He hadn't seen Draco for a long time, and was glad to see that he was quite unchanged.

Draco watched Harry as he helped himself with appetite to the afternoon tea he'd provided, and suddenly said, "You should be more cautious. You must know that people are trying to kill you again."

Harry glanced at his fruitcake, and said, "But you're not, are you?"

Draco acknowledged that he was not. They'd been chatting about mutual acquaintances for a time, when Draco drawled casually, "Glad to see you're getting over what happened in December."

Harry knew that Draco always seemed to know more than most of what went on in the world, but this time it sounded like he was only probing, so was bland and uninformative.

A tall blonde boy came into the room. Draco introduced Lucius Malfoy to Harry Potter. Lucius greeted him with the manners of an adult, rather than those usual for a nine year old.

"He shares a birthday with Adrian," Draco commented.

Lucius was sitting in a chair, listening attentively as they talked, but Draco dismissed him. The boy left with discernible reluctance, and later boasted to a couple of friends that he'd had afternoon tea with the monster.

The last of the four weeks, and Julie thought that Harry still looked far too tired. But it was only a week, and she came with him, so that he wouldn't risk apparating. Again, Harry used the telepathic cure whenever possible, and only used the strong magic on the one left over from the previous week, and one other when he had to. It left him too tired, and he wondered restlessly when he'd be fit again.

Catherine was checking him over every day, now, and Harry wasn't even bothering objecting.

"You may not feel it," she told him, "But you're getting better."

Harry looked at her wearily.

Catherine continued, "I made a mistake, I should not have let you do this month's work. All the same, the LV measure is higher every time I measure - you're getting better."

There were other indications of recovery, too, Catherine thought. He may not have put any weight on, but she'd noticed how much he was eating, and she'd seen his enthusiasm for life, even if he had become more tired as each week progressed.

**x**

For three days after his four weeks work, Harry did very little. He and Julie had not yet put into action their plan to start socialising again. Harry hadn't been well enough, and Julie wasn't willing to face it without him. And then suddenly, he was full of energy and enthusiasm again, and when Ian Maguire drove Connor over, he was stunned to see the man who used a cane staying without apparent trouble, on the bare back of a bucking, plunging, skewbald mare. Harry was laughing, and his face was vivid with life.

"That's Mr. Potter!" said Connor.

Harry saw them arrive, slipped off the little horse, hugged her around the neck, and went to them.

Adrian whistled, Connor turned, and raced off to be with his friend.

Harry joined Ian, who wanted to have a look at the mares and foals in the paddock close by.

"Do you ever sell any?" asked Ian.

"I should," said Harry, grudgingly. "Jimmy keeps telling me there are far too many. But the Andalusians are to go, plus two others, and a lot of these are either mares in foal, or either too young or too old for use."

He pointed to the little skewbald he'd been riding. "That's Mischief, the daughter of Octagonal Rose."

"Really!" said Ian, "Can I have a look at her?"

Harry whistled, and Mischief came to the fence. Ian patted her over, and looked at her conformation, until Mischief stamped her foot and swished her tail.

Ian stepped back admiringly. "For a stallion that was supposed to be just a teaser, he's sired some lovely animals."

Harry beamed. He loved praise of his horses. "He nearly got a bullet in his head that day," he said, "And that's the day I had to geld him."

"Connor's become very keen on riding," said Ian.

"Jimmy says he's coming on like a champion."

Ian said, slanting a look at him, "I'd like to buy Midnight for him if it's possible."

Harry was hesitant. "I'd have to ask. I don't actually own Midnight or Benita, but you can borrow her if you want."

He took Ian to the Old Horses Paddock then, and Ian watched as the strange man with the scarred face, and longish, white-streaked hair, fussed over the old horses and ponies.

Over the next weeks, Ian and Harry became firm friends. From the first, Ian was sure that Harry and his family were not normal people, and it was not just the almost magical communication that Harry had with his horses. It only confirmed him in his opinion when he saw Jebedee appear out of nowhere one day. Jebedee was very big, very black, and wore impressive wizard robes. He looked every inch a powerful wizard. He cast a glance at Harry who was still watching Simon as he tried a young horse over jumps. He pretended he'd seen nothing, and the friendship continued.

Jebedee looked at Harry askance. Muggles were not supposed to know about wizards and magic. When it was accidentally witnessed, memory modification spells were routinely used. But Harry didn't believe in fiddling with people's minds, and refused to do it.

Connor raced ahead of Adrian in riding skills, in spite of his later start. It didn't much worry Adrian. Adrian had a different destiny. In a couple of years, he'd be going to Hogwarts. He would be a wizard. Connor wanted to go to the local comprehensive school, so that he could continue riding, and maybe one day, he'd be as well known as the Barnes brothers.

Now that Harry was no longer over-tired, he and Julie went to a wedding of one of Harry's grandchildren, and a couple of small parties. Harry had changed his tactics. Very few people could sustain a vicious hissing when he approached, and asked if they had asthma - and if not, would they like it?

There was a second wedding, this time it was a great grand-daughter. To everyone's embarrassment, an elderly witch launched a loud diatribe about his monstrous powers, and that he had no right to be with normal people.

Harry frowned at the old woman for a while, and then turned to his grand-daughter, Mary, who stood beside him, and asked for advice.

She shrugged, and said, "I don't know!"

Before the great wizard acted, two of Mary's brothers took the woman firmly by the arms, and took her off, threatening that she'd be thrown out. And when she protested, pointed out to the virago that Harry Potter could probably send her to the moon if he wanted, with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Cissy and Bridan were back, vibrant with happiness, and threw themselves into preparing their new home for the reception of the horses and themselves. Cissy resumed the spell-breaking, too. Cissy always did it easily, without problems, and without crowds. On the other hand, there were always patients that she was not able to cure. She was very well-paid for it, so that Bridon didn't need a wage, and was to work fulltime on the horse stud.

She let Harry buy them another couple of mares, then, to Harry's utmost pleasure. She still said that they were not ready for a stallion.

Luckily, the 'Child of Incest' claims had been almost ignored, although Harry showed her Sirius Black's hidden house just in case. But Madam Diefenberger was slightly built, and female. She didn't have the threatening image of the great wizard, and no-one bothered her.

For three weeks in November, Julie, Adrian and Harry took a holiday at a tropical beach. Adrian's teacher was not very happy. This wasn't the first time that his parents had casually taken him out of school on a holiday. She knew he'd have not the slightest trouble catching up, but it was the principle of the thing! Julie was very happy with Harry now. He'd become tanned, seemed full of energy, and she loved to see him romping in the surf, often joining a group of other young men he'd made friends with.

Hermione checked on him when they returned. Still far too thin, she said severely, as she nearly always did, but then she smiled, and said energy levels good, LV 206. "You're getting better."

The Privileged One wasn't seen when it came close to Harry in the night. There was a while to go yet. For a long time it had relished the feel of a feed that had sustained it for months. Since then, it had fed on emotions, as Dementors mostly did, haunting the places where emotions run high, such as hospitals, prisons, and sports games where large crowds gathered. Occasionally a muggle would suddenly feel cold and look around.

It meant nothing to the Privileged One that humans thought Dementors would keep an undertaking once agreed. Its intentions had changed. The Privileged One was waiting for it to be time for its next feed from a unique spirit_. _

The night when the Dementor came close, for the first time in weeks, Harry was ripped by a nightmare that Julie was unable to soothe. He walked for a long time that night, but it was only a nightmare like he always had. There was no sense of danger...

The horse, Jack, was now used as a riding horse by the security guards. The broken leg may have been healed, but it was not the same as before. Harry usually either rode Mischief, in spite of her small size, and sometimes an older black horse called Kelly. Kelly had been a beautiful horse, and very fast, but was now fifteen, and no longer as energetic.

At the beginning of December, Harry hopped onto Kelly, bareback as usual, just a bit of rope attached to the halter pretending to be reins, and rode to the nearby village. He was planning on being disobedient. His hair was again long, as Julie liked it. She thought it looked distinguished, and a great wizard should look distinguished. Harry far preferred to be inconspicuous, especially when he acted as groom for Beau and Simon. There was a big horse show coming up.

When he returned from the hairdresser, he strolled over to join Ian and Julie as they watched Jimmy tutoring Adrian and Connor over jumps.

Ian looked up in surprise. Harry looked far more ordinary without that mane of white-streaked hair.

Julie looked around, and said, "Harry!"

Harry was looking guilty, even retreating a step, as Julie proceeded to tear strips from him, ending with the complaint that no-one would believe she'd married the great wizard if he just looked ordinary. And then she put the final touch to her indiscretion by clapping her hand over her mouth, and looking at Ian.

Harry just ran his hand over his now short hair, and told her that the hairdresser had pointed out that he was a bit old to be a Hippy.

Harry wasn't terribly worried about Ian any more. He was pretty sure that Ian knew what they were, and had never referred to it.

Ian was amused, and refrained from comment. Connor was so happy these days, and no longer worried that kids at school called him scarface. He'd even told his father what Mr. Potter had said, 'If you need to be brave, have an ice-cream.' Ian didn't quite know what there was in that to make Connor happier, but it had apparently worked.

Connor and Adrian were often seen at Harry's heels, whether walking or riding. To Adrian he was his adored dad, and to Connor, he was something special, too.

Harry enjoyed their company, and only chased them away when he wanted to work on his inventions. He'd refined and improved the rousocular, as he'd planned long ago, but that led to another thing, and another. He was suddenly filled with ideas, and spent several hours every day now in his workshop.

A week into December, he wandered into Margaret's office, presented her with one of the devices for her own use, calling it a Lashdap, and asked if she'd organise mass manufacture and marketing, as she had for other inventions.

Margaret showed Simon, and explained what she would do, but Simon was a muggle, and this was work that she could not delegate to him.

**x**

At the big horse show in December, Simon and Beau were again competing. If any of them thought about what had happened the previous year at this time, no-one said anything. Simon and Beau still knew little more than that the boss had disappeared, and when they returned home, he was already there, and had round the clock nursing care again.

The horses did well, Simon had Tamara, and Beau had both Elliot and Bob. Simon was trying to bring on another young horse, now that he'd lost Jack, but the young mare had a long way to go. Chrissy was there, beaming with pride in her sons, and Jimmy and Harry helped prepare and look after the horses, as always. No-one noticed that Harry had a tendency to scan the sky rather more often than usual - they were accustomed to that habit, and thought nothing of it.

Julie remembered very well the events of the previous December, but she was not worried that it would happen again. The Dementor had said that it would never come back. There was another thing she was reminded of, though, and when Harry arrived home, she had something waiting for him. A young Border Collie bitch.

Harry was thrilled, and fell instantly in love with the dog. She came already named - Tammy. Harry had been given another Tammy once, a long time ago. There was a little grave with her name marked, in a sheltered spot where special pets were buried. Tammy had been the first to be buried there.

From then on, he was rarely seen when at home, without the dog at his heels, although Tammy took a great fancy to Melissa as well. Harry was pleased. He was often away, and he didn't want a dog that pined for him - the reason he'd never had a dog before. He realised now that he'd always wanted one.

The next time he saw Cissy, she was looking ill. He was concerned at first, but very relieved when she told him she was only pregnant. And when she asked, he agreed. He would again take over the overseas trips from the time they resumed in the middle of January.

He had to submit to another examination by Catherine, but Catherine was very pleased with him, and said that there was no problem. LV 224, energy levels high, and he was even finally not as thin.

It reminded him. There were experiments he'd been wanting to make. And one day, in the gymnasium, when no-one was about, he started to generate his strong magic. The first time he did it slowly, as he always did, reaching an intensity that he could not have reached a few months before, an intensity that other people around him would not be able to tolerate. He let it die down, slowly.

And then he started trying to reach that same high intensity as quickly as possible. It seemed he couldn't do it. It always took time. He tried harder, throwing all of himself into the effort, to make it quick. For a second, he thought he'd done it.

He woke half an hour later, flat on the floor and with a colossal headache. To his relief, it appeared that he'd only fainted, there was no evidence that he'd fitted. He felt horrible for the rest of the day, and it took a few days before he was again feeling energetic. It appeared conclusive that he was not going to be able to whip up the magic in a flash.

He decided to wait until he was fully fit before trying that other experiment - to call up the strong magic, and then see if he still had it after apparating.

The Dementor was called by the feeling of the special spirit as it rose in strength. It was still not time. But the time was getting closer.

**x**


	19. Chapter 19

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 19:_

This year, Harry and Julie went to almost every Christmas Party they were invited to. Sometimes, people turned their backs, but few dared hiss. Julie was upset by it, and again started talking of moving to another country. But Harry was tougher, and there were always people he knew and liked, to talk to. Julie had always loved to socialise. It was hard on her that her husband was still so reviled by a large portion of wizardry.

Melissa's girls were home for the short Christmas holidays, and Simon and Beau paid them a lot of attention. They especially seemed to spend a lot of time in the heated swimming pool. Harry, who still swam most days, noticed the way they looked at each other. Rather a shame that there were not three Barnes brothers - one of the Wiley girls was going to miss out.

Beth and Jeremiah, with Kate, joined them for Christmas, and Beth asked if Kate could live with them for a while. She wanted to get a job at the Ministry.

Kate was gorgeously beautiful, as well as sweet-tempered and charming. She didn't need to be highly intelligent, or to have any particular magical talent. She was given a good job at the Ministry the moment she asked, over the claims of far more talented applicants. Kate looked set for a successful career, whether or not she was the slightest bit competent.

**x**

Harry was improving rapidly in health now, and Hermione smiled on him when Julie sent him to her to do her weekly checks. She even stopped nagging him about being too thin, although ribs still showed too clearly.

Healer Granger was beloved by the workers, and frequently was visited by them, even when minor scratches and bruises didn't really need treatment. Big Will idolised her, almost as much as he idolised Harry. He trusted her totally, too, and always did exactly as she instructed. Simon and Beau quite often had injuries for her to treat, including broken bones a couple of times. The muggle boys had grown up at Harry's place, and took wizard healing for granted.

Hermione was entirely comfortable, in her own little office outside the house. She had a bedroom inside, and ate with the staff, or in the private dining room, as she chose. Three cats had adopted her, and even Tammy was often seen in her outer office, sometimes romping with a half-grown ginger cat, sometimes providing a warm flank for the cats to recline on.

Early in January, Harry was to start doing the trips again. Usually they were to be fortnightly, as Harry had mostly done in the past, and Cissy still did. But in February, there were to be three weeks straight in America. Julie was to come. Adrian had plenty of company at home, or could go to the Maguires' place. They were always sleeping over at each other's places now.

**x**

There was no hissing in the atrium as Harry appeared this time, but he felt the hostility, and was very alert. He was met by two aurors, Paul and Heinrich. They didn't expect any attacks on him in the Ministry building, but the atrium was open to the public, and it was possible.

It was a big gathering. Jebedee had given him six aurors again, all people whom he knew and liked. Franz was in charge, and he had total confidence in Franz, Alex whom he'd known since he'd been a freshly qualified boy of twenty, friends Leonard and Leopold, both big, and Fred and Patrick, who were not big, to Harry's relief. Having all those big aurors around him made him feel so small sometimes, though he was five foot, nine, not really all that small.

The short hop over to France, and Harry found they were in a different hotel from when they'd visited before. It was a top class muggle hotel. All the rooms were close together, big and comfortable. Harry had the same as the others. They'd given him suites sometimes, but he wasn't even planning on staying nights. He always had a room anyway. On the same floor was a good sized sitting room, for their exclusive use. There was supposed to be a shopping centre, a pool and spa, and a gymnasium - even a live-in masseur.

Harry was about to go exploring the hotel, when Catherine caught him, and said that he was to go to her room for a check. Harry looked around impatiently, "I was about to go find the pool before lunch."

Patrick was by his side, and Leonard also, keeping a watch from not far away. He was very heavily protected.

"It won't take long," said Catherine firmly.

Harry still hesitated, Patrick watching with amusement his obvious reluctance.

"Come on, Harry, I made a mistake last time letting you work when you weren't fit. You're to come with me." She turned her back, and stalked off, as Harry watched sulkily.

"For a monster, I'm not treated with much bloody respect!" he finally muttered to Patrick, and turned to follow Catherine, leaving Patrick trying to keep a straight face.

Catherine was more thorough than usual, and he had to strip to the waist as she used half a dozen monitors, completely ignoring his grumbles. She finally gave him the nod, and he dressed swiftly. Catherine was very pleased. She thought even his impatience a good sign. And he was looking good - fit, still thin, but not too bad. The LV was now 253, most other indicators showing at his normal, or not far away. She thought it would probably only be a few weeks before he was fully fit.

Patrick was waiting for him as he emerged, and Fred had reconnoitred, so that there was no time lost looking for the pool. They only had an hour now before lunch.

Franz was busy talking to the French Coordinator, who had a list of patients in hand. But Alex and Leopold were both watching over him. Harry took one look at the pool, changed into some conjured swimmers, and dived in. He was feeling very good, and his laps were quick and smooth. And then he turned, treading water, "Come on, Pat. Come on in."

Patrick looked questioningly at Alex, who nodded. Harry pulled himself easily from the water, glanced to the side of Patrick, and there were a pair of swimmers. Patrick picked them up, and disappeared into the change room.

"Alex? Leonard?"

Alex shook his head, laughing. "Somebody has to watch, but Leonard can go in if he wants." But Leonard declined.

Patrick appeared though, and Alex watched grinning, as Harry dived deep, and he turned around warily in the water. Patrick was quick, and suddenly dived, and it was Harry who was pulled deeper. He surfaced, laughing and shaking his head.

Some girls in bikinis arrived. Word had spread. There were goodlooking young men in the swimming pool. Patrick's play developed an element of exhibitionism, but Harry was a married man, to a woman he loved. His glance at the girls was devoid of temptation - almost.

Patrick was not a big man, but he had a beautiful build, and his every action seemed to have a quickness greater than normal. He had black hair, and the girls wondered if the two goodlooking men swimming were brothers.

Alex finally whistled, and when Harry looked up, tapped his watch. Harry started swimming to the side, only turning as he was suddenly ducked again, and swimming underwater for long enough to take revenge.

Once Harry left, and the aurors were off duty, the girls had a chance to meet some of them. Patrick didn't use his own room much that week.

Alex thought Harry was completely recovered, both in spirits and in health, until he noticed Harry making a careful scrutiny of the sky as they started toward where they would work for the week. Fred was to rest during daytime, in case an auror was needed for nights, but all the rest were there. Leonard was rostered to be with Harry as he worked.

Harry had not the slightest trouble with the French patients. The French Coordinator told Franz that three extra from Germany were on at the end, whom Madam Diefenberger had not been able to do. Franz nodded. This was routine.

Harry swept quickly through the patients, and when he struck the first of the Germans, didn't bother even thinking about the telepathic cure, just warned the German, while Leonard requested the observers to leave to avoid interruptions. The intensity needed was not great, and the first of the ones that Cissy had not been able to cure, was fixed. The second only needed a wave of the wand, proving again just how much Harry's power exceeded that of Cissy's.

Alex, looking grim, escorted the third patient into the room where Harry worked. Harry turned to them, and suddenly his forehead scar blazed into prominence, and his face became icy. The last time he'd seen that German auror was just before Harry was used by the Dementor. It was not possible for him to be unmoved.

Without warning his patient in the slightest, he started raising the strong magic. The big auror waited, disguising his extreme trepidation. Harry stayed aware of the man, but added an element that protected himself if he was interrupted, not even knowing how he was doing it. He usually added an element that kept his patient calm. This time he didn't.

The magic was at a much higher intensity than usual, and Harry was beginning to feel an admiration for this man who stood so bravely, not knowing whether he was going to be cured or killed. Finally, he stopped trying to frighten him, used the magic to cure the man, which he could have done a lot quicker if he'd chosen, and let his magic die down.

"OK, you're done," he said, turning his back on the man.

Kohn still watched him. "Thank you," he said finally.

Harry didn't answer. No matter what, he found it very difficult to forgive the Germans.

Alex had stayed. He too, hadn't been sure whether Harry was going to cure him or kill him.

"Kohn," said Alex, coldly, "You're done. Out!"

Catherine was looking at Harry. He had not behaved with his normal courtesy, and totally without warning the man, he had used an intensity of magic that was a lot higher than usual. Now he was leaning against the wall, his face expressionless, but with a severe attack of trembling. And Alex had been frankly rude. A thought suddenly occurred to Catherine, and she looked quickly back toward the doorway, but Pieter Kohn was gone.

Outside, Franz was talking to Pieter, whom he'd known when they'd both worked as aurors in Germany, and whom he'd met again in the Dementor War. Kohn was uncomfortable. He knew that Franz would not be as friendly if he knew the job he'd done the December before last. But it had been kept very quiet in Germany, and he knew that it had been kept very quiet in Britain as well. He didn't know whether Franz knew anything about it. There was something so horribly shameful about being used by a Dementor.

Franz was a very intelligent man. He knew what had been done to Harry, he knew that Alex had been present, and he saw that Alex was looking at Kohn with undisguised hostility. And he suddenly turned on Kohn whose skin was smooth where before it had been covered with warty growths and painful abscesses. "You were there, weren't you?" he said, softly, accusingly.

Kohn stood his ground. "I was there - it had to be done."

Franz said very coldly, "You were lucky he didn't recognise you."

Kohn answered, "He recognised me. I knew he would."

Franz said grittily, "Yet you had the gall to come to him to be cured!"

"He has the reputation of being a good man - in spite of the English nonsense about him being a monster!"

Franz swore crudely, in German, and turned his back on his former friend, an unusual gesture for the self-controlled man.

Kohn turned and walked off.

Franz went to the side of his friend, who still trembled. "Coming back to the hotel?"

"In a minute," said Harry, in a perfectly steady voice, as if his trembling had not been provoked by the contact with the man who had stood and watched - and had not taken Julie and Adrian away first. So Franz and Catherine waited, pretending with him that it was just another of the trembling attacks he had most days of his life.

It was not until an hour later, after some soothing and repetitive exercise in the gymnasium that he felt calm enough to risk apparating. It was almost dark when he arrived at the outside apparation zone.

Inside the home, Tammy scratched at the door, and Julie rose and let her out. Most of the horses were in shelter for the cold January night, but Harry walked, Tammy at his heels, to the Old Horses' Paddock, entering the warm shelter that gave them the freedom to come and go as they chose.

It was comforting to talk to the old horses. Even after all this time, and knowing that the last of the Dementors was dead, he felt a sick horror when he was reminded of the creature. So he petted Clarice and Kentucky and the grey ponies, Cloud and Misty. And he put his arms around the neck of old Clarice, and hugged her. There were tears in his eyes. As he'd said to Connor, the scars that were inside were the worst.

When he left the shelter, he did a careful scan of the twilight sky.

And then he went inside, and spoke cheerfully to Julie about the excellent hotel, with swimming pool, spa, and even a masseur. Tammy lay on the floor, resting her head on his foot.

The rest of the week went smoothly, Harry using his strong magic when he needed it, routinely, and without a great deal of effort.

A week off, and Harry went back to his workshop, working with enthusiasm and concentration. It was many years since he'd done any inventing, but his interests seemed to go in phases. Whatever his current interest, he threw himself into. There was very little that was half-hearted about Harry Potter.

**x**

Harry didn't complain when he was ordered to Catherine's room on arrival in Italy. And this time he asked about her findings. He was thinking that he was fully fit - he felt fully fit, but while Catherine said that he was making excellent progress, the LV was still only 267. He thought he should wait a bit longer before making the experiment that could be dangerous. And he knew something now that was a help. Alex had spent several months in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad when he'd been injured once, and was experienced at sorting out problems caused by apparation gone wrong - except when it was fatal.

The fact that Harry was now in Italy made no difference to the Dementor when it decided to check on Harry. It could feel the special one wherever he was. The Dementor was not impatient. It would wait as long as it needed. The special one must be as full of his spirit as he had been twice before when he had been its morkon.

On the second day in Italy, it became known where the team were staying. From then on, crowds lined their route to where they walked, in spite of the cold. Harry still felt it bizarre, when people pushed each other to the side in order to catch a glimpse of him. He'd been accustomed to attention for most of his life, but his notoriety was now extreme. Leonard and Fred usually walked on either side, Patrick behind, Franz usually close. Leopold was to cover nights if needed. It hadn't been needed for the week they were in France.

On the third day in Italy, they had not long entered the wizarding area through a concealed doorway, when Harry was suddenly pushed to the ground by Leonard, and a wizard was disarmed by Patrick.

Harry was astonished. He was slipping. There had been no sense of danger, and he had not even felt the intention when he'd scanned the crowd the moment they'd entered the new area.

Leonard removed his heavy weight from on top of him, and as soon as Harry could breathe again, he thanked them. He thought this was probably the very first time that his bodyguards had so clearly saved him from being cursed.

When returning that day, two wizards on opposite sides of the street attempted the same thing. This time Patrick disarmed one, but only Harry saw the green light streaking toward Leonard on his other side. In the past he'd batted away spells with his hand, something that no-one else had ever been able to do. This time he was too far away, and had Fred on top of him besides. But he used his magic, and the spell vanished before it could hurt his friend.

Most of his exceptional abilities had come about like that. They were seldom deliberately developed, but suddenly, when needed, they were just there. Both the wizards who had tried to kill him disapparated, and escaped.

From then on, they apparated from the hotel to the working area, and the crowds only caught a glimpse of him now and then when he brought coffee or a sandwich outside. He was even more heavily protected, if possible, and Franz was very disapproving whenever he came outside.

Except for the four weeks in September he'd done for Cissy, Harry hadn't worked for a long time, and there was an accumulation of cases that Cissy had not been able to do. But there were mostly only about three in a day of those added, as it was known that a lot of these were difficult and exhausting, and should be spaced out. But Harry was having no trouble this time with his improved health, and went home every night, leaving the aurors to do whatever they wanted to do.

For Leopold, covering nights, it was a holiday. He was expected to rest during the day, but Harry hadn't been there at night to guard. He had not so far had any work to do at all.

Thursday, there were pumpkin-heads waiting for them. They seemed to be everywhere. Harry complained to the Italian Coordinator. How many times had he told them to call him as soon as possible? The Italian shrugged, and said that it was known that he'd been sick. Harry pointed out that pumpkin-heads were urgent, and he could usually do them even when he was a bit sick, though he had to acknowledge that over the last few years, he'd spent months very sick.

The waiting room was full, and at least eight had spilt into the open. Harry paused as he went outside, and the crowd had a good look for a change, as he carefully scanned their faces, and opened his mind for any hint of a threat.

The aurors, English and Italian, were spaced around, very alert, as Harry methodically went from one to the next pumpkin-head, dismissing those who were dead. People in the crowd were pointing at him, commenting, as he checked the grotesque things that had once been humans.

All but three were dead, although he knew not to pronounce it too quickly, or the carers tended to argue with him. It was known that he never tried to do anything with a pumpkin-head he pronounced dead. But he knew very quickly these days, and dead was dead.

Fred was rostered to be with him while he worked, but he always had at least two when he worked a telepathic cure, especially when it was pumpkin-heads. And when he went to Franz, he asked if he could have Patrick, for his exceptional speed. Franz whistled over Patrick. Patrick was never normally rostered to be with Harry, as he was unable to tolerate the feeling of strong magic.

Fred and Patrick hadn't seen pumpkin-heads cured, and Harry took the time to explain to them what to expect. Alex came in, too, and conjured a yielding barrier, with a doorway, as he'd been taught by Harry.

Harry promised to teach Fred and Patrick later, and told them why he didn't do it himself. He never had learned to work spells that other people could undo. The best he could do was put a time limit on them, in case he was for some reason unable to undo them himself when needed.

There were only a few observers, whom Harry ignored, as he always did. He didn't really like having observers, but it cost the host country a lot of money to have them, so he put up with it. Alex conjured a safety barrier around them.

The first pumpkin-head was brought in, and Harry filled in the doorway with his own creation, a continuation of the strong but yielding transparent barrier, but this one was almost transparent to telepathy, in order to make the job easier for himself. Only Harry and Cissy could make a barrier like that.

The first pumpkin-head was led in. Three months ago, Catherine said, reading from the notes given to her by the Italian Coordinator. Harry set to work, watched in fascination by his audience. He stared blindly into the distance, concentrating. He knew exactly what he was doing these days, and the actual rescue was easy. Keeping them calm, though, was very difficult and often impossible. This one collapsed, apparently comatose, and Harry suspected that he would soon have died. The ambulance team took him off to hospital without trouble, though Harry warned them to be very careful. Harry knew just how dangerous ex-pumpkin-heads could be.

The next one was led in, and steered behind the barrier. They were always very placid and easy to manage in this state. Catherine was gaping, as she looked at the notes, and finally said "Ninety years!"

Harry turned to her, saying that it couldn't be right. He knew that pumpkin-heads always withered away within two or three years, and were dead long before then. Catherine handed the notes to Harry. It certainly said ninety years.

Harry went to the door, and checked with the carer. The carer didn't know about ninety years, but he'd been looking after it for six, and knew that it had been in that state for many years before it became his job. The man's real name had never been known. They called him Emilio.

Shaking his head in amazement, Harry erected his own guard, so that his patient could not hurt his head, and then made the small effort to put himself inside the mind of the pumpkin-head.

The man trapped inside the monster was working on an obscure problem that had baffled researchers for millennia. Harry was distracted - he thought he had to be right, that had to be the answer. But this was unprecedented, pumpkin-heads were always either mad with panic and rage, or, on rare occasions, in a trance. He had never struck one that was in deep, deep thought, and in the end, he fairly tentatively nudged the man's consciousness, with a polite _Excuse me!_

Instead of resulting rage, or overwhelming relief, he felt a slight impatience. The man was busy!

Harry didn't quite know what to do, and just watched and waited for a while as the man followed his train of thought. Harry's observers were wondering why it was taking so long. Harry stood on the other side of the safety barrier, head dropped, eyes closed, concentrating.

The man apparently worked out the problem to his own satisfaction, and his attention turned to the other awareness that visited. He was mildly curious.

Harry thought to him, _Emilio?_ but the man stated that his name was Caradoc, Caradoc Dearborn. Harry thought he'd heard the unusual name before, but it was a very long time ago. He had to ask him, would he like to be rescued? Would he like to be a normal man again?

The man wasn't to be hurried, but eventually agreed. It only took a moment, and Caradoc was a man, a young-looking man, looking with curiosity at the people that stared, and the barrier in front of him. Harry dropped the barrier, and the man stepped out. "How do you do?"

Harry shook his hand, feeling rather taken aback. He'd been strangled, punched, kicked and bashed by ex-pumpkin-heads, but he couldn't remember any of them offering to shake his hand.

"Harry Potter," Harry introduced himself.

"Any relation to James?" asked Caradoc, "You look a lot like him."

"James was my father," said Harry, feeling more unreal by the moment.

Something clicked into place, and Harry asked, "Were you by any chance in the Order of the Phoenix?"

Caradoc tensed for a moment, but then asked, "Is the Dark Lord still around?"

Harry said, "Long since dead. There is no secrecy any more about the Order."

Caradoc nodded. "I was in the Order. My occupation was auror. I'm very glad to hear that Voldemort is dead."

Harry was grinning. "Come and meet Franz. He's the boss around here."

Harry poked his head out the door, and sent the word for Franz. "Meet Caradoc Dearborn," he said. "He's an English auror, and you won't _believe _how much backpay he's owed!"

Harry would very much have liked to continue talking to Caradoc, who had achieved the incredible feat of staying alive and rational for ninety years, while totally deprived of any sensory input. But there was one to go.

Alex stayed outside, talking to Caradoc, with Franz, until the Italian mediwizard insisted on his going with them to the wizard hospital for a checkup, but Fred and Patrick were with Harry as the third pumpkin-head was led into the room. Harry had just said to Catherine that Caradoc had to be aged at least a hundred and ten, probably more, but rather reluctantly turned to the last. Catherine checked her notes. A month ago, she said, a muggle.

Harry had done twenty-four muggles one exhausting day, and knew them to be different from wizards. Instead of going berserk, each of those had been as if tranquillised, and already dying, even after only a day.

As expected, he found that the distance imposed by the barrier he used was sufficient of a hindrance that he had to do without it. But nearly all the other muggles he'd done had only fainted, and were not dangerous. Catherine remembered, and told Fred and Patrick what was expected, but warned them to be ready just in case. Ex-pumpkin-heads were unpredictable.

Harry had to work very hard with this one, finding it difficult to remember how the other muggles had been, but anyway, he thought this one seemed different again, very different. He was concentrating hard, sweating, after a while even trembling, depending more on his cane. Finally, a lightly built, and very beautiful woman stood before him, as placidly as the pumpkin-head had done.

It always took a minute or so for Harry to regain normal alertness after deep concentration, a major reason why he'd so often been hurt by ex-pumpkin-heads. But this one was just standing, not looking at all dangerous, and Fred and Patrick relaxed.

There was a change. In an instant, the woman lost her beauty, was lightning fast, and berserk with fury. She grabbed Harry's cane, so that he fell, and then, before he could react, hit him over the head with it.

Harry grunted, trying to protect himself with an arm over his head.

Stun spells sent by both Patrick and Fred bounced off, one hitting Catherine so that she slumped forward over her desk, unable to help.

The berserk woman, half Veela, half muggle, knocked them both over with a scything blow with the cane, and turned back to Harry, breaking his arm with the first blow, and taking away consciousness with a second, but continuing to belabour him, concentrating on the head.

Patrick and Fred were up by then, and brought her down with brute force, seeing spells didn't work. They were still having a lot of trouble, though, and yelled to the observers to get help.

The woman was finally subdued, and a spell was used to revive Catherine. It seemed she was urgently needed.

Instead of having another chance to talk to Caradoc, Harry spent the next few hours in bed with a severe headache, and a forearm that continued to ache even after Catherine had fixed the break. The rest of the day's patients were put off to Friday. They were going to be late home, and Leopold, on night duty, was going to be needed for a change.

Harry was up for dinner, eating with appetite, even if a bit pale. The aurors were very pleased to see him. It was not that they'd been particularly worried. This sort of minor accident was not uncommon for Harry, and it was by no means the first time that an auror had needed to take him back to the hotel. But they were intensely curious about Dearborn. They knew about Voldemort - the older ones had covered him in auror training, and the younger ones had even learned about him at school - it was taught in History of Magic.

It seemed hysterical to Harry that his final fight with Voldemort was History, probably taught in exactly the same dry and boring way that he'd learned History of Magic.

Harry had never liked to talk about it, but it was so long ago now, ancient history to the young ones. He could quote an old prophecy, _'...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.'_ And he showed them the palm of his right hand, where there was a small white mark, and said, "It was exactly, literally true. He sent a Death Curse, and I hit it back with my hand, and killed him."

He told them what he knew about the Order of the Phoenix, which wasn't actually a great deal, as he'd never been a part of it. Harry was not yet born when the Order was formed, and still at school when it disbanded after the death of Voldemort. He didn't know much about Caradoc Dearborn - only that he'd been in the Order, and vanished, his body never found. That was before he was born.

"Pat and I went on a tour in Hogsmeade once," said Fred, unexpectedly. "They showed us where you killed Voldemort, plus twelve Death Eaters, and the pub where you celebrated afterward, and the wand that you used."

Harry was startled, "They've got my wand?"

"They said that it was your wand, but I didn't believe it."

"I lost my wand a few years ago. I'd love to have it back. I might go check on the weekend, and if they have got it, they won't have it long!"

"This was two years ago, but it seems unlikely."

Patrick put in. "And I reckoned they didn't really know as much as they said. Did you really kill twelve Death Eaters?"

Harry shook his head. "Stunned a few is all. A couple of them killed each other, though. Euan Abercrombie helped."

"Professor Abercrombie?"

Harry nodded.

Fred said, "I've never even heard that he was involved."

"They gave him his Order of Merlin for it."

Harry left the table then, to coax a second dessert from the plump lady who seemed to be in charge.

"Well, that's what I'm doing Saturday - going to Hogsmeade, and seeing if they've got my wand," he said as he returned to the table.

Franz said in a matter-of-fact voice, "Who do you want with you?"

Harry paused, he'd forgotten that people were trying to kill him again. "I'll go in disguise. I won't need anybody."

But Patrick said that he'd love to go, and Fred immediately said, "Me, too."

Harry grinned at them and agreed. He liked these boys, though he didn't expect to need the help of bodyguards.

Friday, they finished their work, and returned home. Harry was over his mild concussion, so could apparate.

He was greeted with exuberance by Tammy, and with relief by Julie, who always worried when he didn't come home, even when a message was sent.

**x**


	20. Chapter 20

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 20:_

Saturday, Harry disguised his scars with make-up, used temporary hair dye to render his still mostly black hair to brown, garbed himself in a shabby brown cape, and looking as ordinary as possible, apparated to the spot where he planned to meet Fred and Patrick. He didn't believe that it would really be his wand that they had, but he thought it might be an amusing visit. Fred blinked at him, but Patrick knew him instantly.

Laughing and joking, the three young wizards signed up for the tour that was to leave shortly. Harry's eyes were sparkling. This was really very funny, going on a tour that was mostly about himself. The stop at the museum and souvenir shop was to be last.

The woman who was the tour guide was young, but neither young enough nor old enough to have been taught by Professor Potter. None of the other dozen tourists took any notice of Harry's group, except for one young witch, who had eyes for Patrick.

Harry became bored after a while, as the tour guide showed them several places in Hogsmeade, with frequent references to Harry Potter's imaginary adventures in those places. He murmured to his companions, "I actually very rarely came here, it was far too dangerous."

They were right about the pub where he'd celebrated afterward, and the story of a pink common room had gone into legend.

"Is that right?" Fred asked him.

Harry was grinning. "I was absolutely, incredibly drunk! It was a major celebration!"

There was a short walk afterward, across some rough ground. "We're going now to where the last battle was fought," announced the tour guide.

"It was?" murmured Harry, as they headed in quite the wrong direction.

Fred grabbed his arm as the ground sloped too much for him with his precarious balance. The witch who'd noticed Patrick's good looks, was now looking closely at Harry. Harry looked back, winked, and put a finger to his lips.

The woman smothered a laugh, and joined their group. "Hi, my name's Susan."

Harry put out his hand, "I'm Bellamy, and this is Fred and Patrick."

They came to an open area near the Shrieking Shack, and Harry listened attentively as the group were told about how the young Harry Potter had killed Voldemort and twelve Death Eaters, single handed.

"How much do you reckon is true?" asked Fred.

"They got the day right," said Harry, who knew that Susan had recognised him, and wasn't worrying.

They were heading back now, and the tour guide was being asked what she thought about this thing about Harry Potter being a monster. The tour guide said it was nonsense, that he may be a fantastic fighter, but that didn't make him a monster!

"Remind me to give her a big tip!" murmured Harry to Fred, who was close to his left hand, making sure he didn't fall on the sloping ground. Patrick was very involved talking to Susan.

The last stop was outside a bookstore, and the tour guide gave quite an accurate account of Harry's encounter with four wizards trying to kill him.

"How true is that?" Susan asked him, quietly, though. She wasn't trying to betray him.

"Pretty fair, actually," said Harry. "Except that I was sneaky, and apparated out of the bookstore to the other side of the street before taking them on. I was never that good that I could have beaten two of them lined up and ready."

There was more talk about whether Harry was a great wizard, or a monster who should not be allowed in civilised society. Harry listened unmoved, but Susan became indignant on his behalf. He smiled at her, "Hush! I'm anonymous today."

Susan looked mutinous. "It'd give them a shock!"

Harry offered, "I'll show you where I really killed Voldemort if you keep quiet."

They were finally in the museum, and the tour guide showed them old Quidditch robes that Harry Potter had worn, other things that he was supposed to have used, and then their prize piece, the original wand that Harry had used when he killed Voldemort. Harry narrowed his eyes at it. He didn't think so, but he asked if she'd mind if he had a closer look.

"You can't touch it, of course," she said reverently, holding it closer to him.

Harry stepped back. "Thank you."

The tour guide was looking at him, and then shook her head. It couldn't be, and anyway, everyone knew that his hair was long and white streaked, not ordinary brown.

The tour guide mentioned a few things available in the souvenir shop, including an account of his trial for murder, and some films, adult only, she added. Harry wasn't listening, at the other end of the shop, looking at fluffy toys. His eyes were sparkling with merriment as he picked up a Harry Potter doll, that said, "Die, Lord Voldemort!" words that Harry had never uttered in his life.

He pounced on a pile of thin booklets. "Ah ha!" he said to Fred next to him. "Now I'll see what you bastards say about me!"

It was a copy of an auror training manual on Harry Potter, and how to deal with him. It was no longer officially used. Fred was violently blushing, and Harry looked at him in amusement. "Is it that bad?"

"It's no longer used," Fred protested. "You really don't want to read it!"

Harry's curiosity mounted. "If it's no longer used, how do you know what it says?"

He went to pay for the booklet, and only then did he notice that so many people were buying sets of films. His suspicion was confirmed when the customer in front of him put her set on the counter, and he could see the front cover. He didn't buy the booklet. He put it back on the pile, and went outside instead, followed by Fred.

Waiting for Patrick and Sue, he leaned against the wall, his face cold and expressionless, scanning the sky in a way that had become very familiar to those close to him. Fred gave him a glance and said nothing.

Patrick and Susan were still in the store. Susan wanted a copy of the films, but Patrick suggested that he bring a set to her at their next meeting, that they were probably very embarrassing for Harry.

Harry was less horridly embarrassed about the films than he'd been when they first started circulating, but was quite unhappy they were again so easily available. One showed his ill-treatment at the hands of his kidnappers, one showed him killing two of his kidnappers. Now there seemed to be a book about his trial that went with the set. There were some very painful and shameful scenes on the first film, and the second was not going to persuade anyone that he was not a monster.

The people who'd been on the tour were beginning to emerge now, nearly all of them with a set of films. Harry suddenly shrugged and said to Fred beside him, "It was a long time ago, no point fretting about it!" And when Susan and Patrick came out, he was looking cheerful again, and asked if they wanted a drink at the pub first, or wanted to go and see the place where the battle was actually fought, if they were interested of course.

Susan smiled at him, hero-worship in her eyes. "Where the battle was fought, please."

Patrick took her arm, possessively. He was glad that Harry was currently married, his womanising was legendary.

"We may not be able to get in," warned Harry. "It's in the grounds of Hogwarts, but I might know the security guards on the gate, from when I was teaching a few years ago. If I do, I reckon I can talk them into letting me in." And not long later, he was greeting Jet Smith and Electra Davies, the two security guards on duty at the gate. Jet was dubious, but Electra knew him immediately. How often had she fantasised about this attractive and legendary figure?

Harry introduced his friends, and said casually that they wanted to see where he'd killed Voldemort.

Jet questioned, "That was up near the Shrieking Shack, wasn't it?"

"No, that might be more convenient for the tour guide, but it was actually in that open area behind Hagrid's Hut."

Far from denying him entry, the gatekeepers were eager to see the place also, and abandoned their duties, to Harry's surprise, and followed the group. Fred again took Harry's arm, he was quite bad over sloping ground, and Patrick took Susan's, in a pretence of helping her.

She smiled on him, and allowed herself to be helped.

It was Saturday, but luckily lunchtime, and few students were about. The area was little changed, the tree where he'd been tied had increased a little in girth, and Harry gave a brief description of the battle that had come with little warning, and had spelt the end of his years living under the cloud of the prophecy.

"It was only mid-morning," he laughed, "and we drank all day and all evening, and that's how I wound up turning the Gryffindor common room a horrible shade of pink. I was going to do the staircase blue, but Ron stopped me."

Harry gazed at the castle that he loved, and turned his back on it, heading toward the gate. He was a monster, and not wanted here.

There was pointing and murmuring when they returned to Hogsmeade, and Harry assumed he'd been recognised. He was becoming tense, and only waited long enough to ask Fred to find the tour guide again, and give her his tip. He said to say it was from the monster. He told Susan that it had been nice to meet her, and silently disapparated.

Julie and Adrian had already eaten, but Harry took himself to the staff dining room. Klaus looked at him, grumbling, and stumped off to get him something to eat.

**x**

He never discussed his visit to Hogsmeade with Julie. Julie preferred not to think about her husband's actual age, and Harry thought she only had a very vague idea of the reasons that he originally became famous.

Adrian and Connor were still wildly keen on riding, and there were plans for yet another gymkhana the following weekend. Harry was to have this week off, and then on Monday, he and Julie would be going to America for three weeks. Harry was looking forward to America. First, there was a California beach that he loved, then another city, then New York. They always treated him well in America, and he'd have Julie with him.

For three days, Harry was scarcely seen, buried in his workshop. Tuesday afternoon, he took two more inventions to Margaret for organising, to Margaret's pleasure - she loved seeing his wealth increase, especially as he'd spent so much money on Cissy just lately, and he had a ridiculously expensive stallion yet to buy.

Wednesday, Harry, Connor and Adrian went for a long ride on the moors, before dropping in to see Cissy and Bridon. Cissy still looked ill, and thanked Harry for continuing with the overseas trips for her.

"I'm enjoying it," said Harry. "Even when the work itself is boring, I have some good times with the aurors."

He told her about Caradoc Dearborn, and said that he'd have to find out where he was. He thought he'd be fascinating to talk with. That problem he'd been working on... Caradoc would have to write a book.

Cissy had arranged with Melissa to ride one of her Andalusian mares in show classes, and Bridon was to ride another. A few prizes now would increase the value of their foals. As Simon and Beau were also going, and Adrian and Connor wanted to use two ponies each, it was going to be a very big contingent.

Harry felt full of energy, and only looked forward to it. Ian wasn't working, and had offered to help. Harry was pleased. He very much enjoyed Ian's company.

There were mixed results on Saturday. Cissy's Andalusians won their classes hands down, even when Bridon rode sloppily, Adrian did remarkably badly on Clown, who was supposed to be becoming an expert in the novelty events, Connor did remarkably well on Pinto, in the same events, and neither of the boys fell off in the jumping class for their age group. Jimmy Carr tore strips off Simon who had made a hash of the jumping on his young mare, and gave some grudging praise to Beau, who had done nicely on Bob.

Meantime, Ian and Harry prettied up ponies, harnessed horses, organised children, and set up for lunch, although Harry waited until Ian went off to find the toilet before conjuring the chairs and tables. Ian blinked when he came back and looked suspiciously at Harry, sitting blandly in a chair, feet up on another one, and checking the show schedule. It was a few months ago now that Ian had first met Harry, and remembered how thin and tired he'd looked then. He had it from Connor, too, that he'd nearly died the Christmas before last. When he ventured on the subject, Harry was totally uninformative, only agreeing that he was quite well now.

By the time they went home, everyone was weary. Everyone except Harry, who was full of energy these days.

"We'll be pleased to have Adrian with us these next few weeks," commented Ian.

"It's good of you to have him," said Harry.

"Connor says they're going to have Clown and Midnight staying at our place, and use Benita and Pinto when they go to Jimmy for their riding lessons after school."

"They've got it all organised, then," said Harry, adding, "Jimmy always seems a bit severe to me, but none of his pupils have ever worried."

Ian commented, "I think he has a real satisfaction in teaching."

Harry agreed, and mentioned that he'd been a teacher himself for a while, "But life has its twists and turns."

Harry felt Ian's curiosity again, but only whistled to Clown, who turned nimbly in the horsebox, and walked down the ramp. Harry gave the little horse a hug, and walked with him to the open gate, taking off the rope from his halter.

"He's like his dad," he said to Ian, "You can't keep him tied."

Connor and his father left then, and Harry, with Tammy again at his heels, walked inside. A warm fire was lit, dinner was waiting in the dining room, and Adrian was full of chatter, as Julie listened, a fond smile on her face. He was so full of enthusiasm. She frowned at Harry, though, and sent him off to shower and change before he even thought of sitting down for dinner. Harry kissed her before doing what he was told. His wives had always bossed him around. He liked it.

Calliope, his cat, settled on his knee after dinner, and Harry and Julie talked quietly, with the ease of long companionship. They'd been married fifteen years. Harry thought he was so lucky to have found a wife he could love again. He'd been lonely a long time after Luna died.

But that night, the warmth and the gentle voice of his beloved wife were not enough to pull him out of the nightmare, and he walked the grounds for nearly an hour before he stopped shaking.

The Privileged One thought it would be soon now. There was no hurry, and there were arrangements to make. The plan had worked well last time. It had been able to take as much as possible, and still leave the morkon with sufficient life that his kind had been able to restore him to health. It wanted to do the same again. The special one should have immediate care after the taking.

**x**

Julie had so much luggage on Monday, ready for the trip to America, that Harry touched his wand to it, and it appeared in the Transport Bay. Few others had ever mastered that spell, though some had lost their luggage trying.

The same team as before, with the addition of Natalie, whom Harry had worked with before a few times, and a twenty-year-old, not much taller than himself, who still managed to look down his long nose with a supercilious expression as if to say that he was absolutely not impressed by the great wizard. His name was Manfred Cahill. Harry shook his hand. There'd been aurors before whom he hadn't liked at first, and who had become friends anyway.

They were not staying in the same hotels as usual, except for in New York. In California, it was to be a small hotel by the beach, where there were to be no other guests for security reasons. The next place was the same idea, but in New York, it was to be the same luxurious hotel as usual, as there were to be some important functions, which Harry didn't know about yet. His hatred of formal functions was well known.

Because of the longer trip than usual, there were to be no patients the first day. But as soon as they were shown their rooms, in a small pink hotel where Harry had stayed before, a very long time ago, he looked at the waves rolling in, a much heavier swell than usual, and couldn't wait to go swimming.

"Harry!" said Catherine.

Harry turned, frowning, but Catherine only said, "Before dinner, in my room."

Harry smiled, and waved. Franz looked around at several unenthusiastic aurors. "Who's game for a swim?"

They looked at each other. There was a cool breeze blowing. Patrick shivered, just thinking about swimming, and said, "Well, it's not as if we can protect him in the water without our wands anyway!" Leonard looked at his friend Leopold, who nodded. Patrick gave a sigh of relief. They were both big, burly men. Maybe they wouldn't feel the cold like he did.

The chill breeze was enough to keep most people off the beach, and Harry only did his usual scan of the sky, checked the people closest, and apparated straight into the water. The waves were great, and the joy of the special one gave pleasure to a Dementor.

Nearly time, and there were arrangements to make. Schweitzer and Kohn were horrified to see the Dementor. It was supposed to be dead. And it wanted Harry Potter again. They remembered what the great wizard had said, that if there were a next time, it was the Dementor that would be led into a trap.

The German aurors agreed to the demands of the Dementor, but their emotions were not matching their words. The Dementor hovered for a while, paused, and then breathed in, robbing them of consciousness. They dropped.

The Dementor contemplated using them, but it was only the special one it wanted, and instead, it just touched a finger to the neck of Kohn and he was dead, and to the neck of Schweitzer, and he was dead. No-one else knew that a Dementor survived_._

**x**

A few muggles were on the beach, watching three young men as they played in the waves, and finally emerged, happy, if rather goosepimpled. It was still high tide, and Leopold and Leonard took an arm each of Harry, and simply lifted him, and walked across the soft sand. They knew he couldn't manage it without a great deal of trouble.

Harry thanked them, and said, "See, it wasn't so cold!"

Leopold shuddered, and said, "Bloody 'ell."

"Why did you come in then?" Harry asked innocently.

Leopold said nothing. Harry was frowning now. "There's nothing to protect me from in the water, you didn't have to come in if you didn't want to."

Leonard said blithely, "Of course, we wanted to. It was fun, wasn't it, Leo?"

Leopold laughed. "Of course it was fun, and I'm sure Catherine has a potion if we get pneumonia!"

Harry asked Franz, though, later, if he gave orders for the aurors to go swimming with him if they didn't want to. Franz said that of course, he didn't. There was really not much point. Harry wondered if he lied.

Julie met Harry at the entry of the hotel, holding a large, warmed towel. Harry kissed her, and suggested that he needed to be warmed up properly. So Julie took him to the bedroom, and they both warmed up.

Afterward, Harry reluctantly took himself to Catherine's room, but found her in the sitting room reading a book instead. She rose immediately she saw him, though.

She only did the Niscos and weight this time. "Still thin!" she said in exasperation. "Do you ever fatten up?"

Harry shrugged, and got up. "Finished?" he asked. She nodded, and he did up his sleeve.

Harry thought he was fully better now, and was planning to try that dangerous experiment Friday evening, which would give him a couple of days to recover if it left him as headachy as that other recent experiment had been.

Catherine noted her results, LV 288. Not far to go there, but he had another six pounds to put on to get back to his usual weight, and she'd always thought his usual weight too thin.

Manfred was on guard outside Catherine's room - there were always bodyguards wherever Harry was. Manfred looked down his long nose as Harry emerged. He was certainly fussed over! Harry nodded to him casually as Manfred walked beside him to the sitting room. Harry thought the bodyguards were really overdoing it, but seldom bothered protesting these days. They never had taken the slightest notice of him.

Work was routine, Harry had no trouble, and swam every afternoon, sometimes accompanied, sometimes not. Franz had thought about it, and decided that he would not, after all, ensure that he was accompanied into the water. He knew that he himself would be very reluctant to swim when the weather stayed cold. At low tide, when the sand was firm, Harry went for long walks along the beach, always accompanied. Julie went shopping. Julie, too, was always accompanied. Julie liked it.

Without consulting Harry or Franz, Julie arranged with her sister that they'd visit for the weekend. Franz, as soon as he was told, went to see them. Lyn and Jake were overjoyed that Harry and Julie were to have bodyguards. It would show how very, very important their house guest was, and the more Franz went into their plans for his entertainment, the happier they were.

Harry was disgusted when he heard the plans, and pointed out that they'd been there for a couple of weeks just the previous August without the slightest need for bodyguards. It was going to mess up his plans to make his experiment Friday night, too. Not that it was urgent. The last of the Dementors was dead.

The Dementor came close Saturday night. Not quite yet, it could feel. Soon. It would act without human help. If it chose, it could tell the humans where he lay afterward, but perhaps it would be better if he left the special one with a bit more life than last time. The special one was not old. The special one could be its morkon for many years, and it gave some thought to the survival of the special one, more than his immediate recovery. The Privileged One knew emotions. It knew the horror and the terror with which it was regarded by the unique spirit. But there was something else it had learned when the humans had helped it. The special one would sacrifice himself for his family. There was his young one.

The Dementor kept out of sight as it visited Harry's home, and felt for the spirit of Adrian. It was not tempted. The young one was not the same as his parent. It would serve the purpose of compelling the special one to stay alive, however, when he might prefer to hurl himself into the ground, as the Dementor had thought he was about to do when he had tried to resist his fate as a morkon.

Harry shivered and whimpered in his sleep. But Julie murmured to him and started fondling. There was nothing like love-making to stop a beginning nightmare.

**x**

Harry was shown off, as he'd known he would be. Lyn and Jake were right in what they had thought - a couple of bodyguards tailing him wherever he went was very impressive. It didn't impress Harry, who found thoroughly irksome. And when he noticed some young friends gathered in a group outside, he slipped his bodyguards, to their annoyance, and joined them, the youths between him and the rest of the gathering.

Alex, patrolling the outskirts, noticed, but only grinned to himself. He thought Harry was safe enough, and it was not as if he was defenceless, after all.

The boys had been doing some research about the great wizard, but Harry became uncomfortable when they started questioning him about certain aspects of his past, and Nathan switched the conversation to football. It was Tom's home this time, and after a while, he suggested they might like to have a stroll around. Harry agreed, only scanning the night sky in a habitual gesture. He felt no threat, from the sky or anywhere else. Alex called for help, and Manfred went to his side. Harry knew they were there by now, and took no notice. He didn't mind them so much when they were not at his elbow.

Julie had missed him, and so had Lyn and Jake. Jake wondered if he was having a muggle fist fight again, he'd scarcely been able to believe it when he'd heard, and had not told Lyn.

After a while, Alex thought it was time for Harry to behave, and tried to apparate close, finding he could not. Harry was cautious these days, though it didn't seem that way to the aurors. There was a charm around him - no-one could apparate within five yards of wherever he was. Alex walked, instead. Harry treated it as a social occasion, and merely introduced Alex to his friends.

"Julie'll be cross," Alex finally said, and Harry sighed. "Probably Franz won't speak to me for days, either." But he turned his steps back to the tedium of being polite to important people.

Catherine insisted on another check Sunday night, when Harry and the assigned aurors rejoined the rest of the group at their new hotel. And this time she smiled in pleasure. "Energy levels high, weight improved, LV 294. Finally."

Harry smiled at her. "Does that mean you'll stop wanting to check me all the time?"

Catherine said severely, "The beginning and end of every week, unless there's anything crop up. And only Niscos and weight, as I've always done."

Harry nodded. "I can live with that." He grinned. "Manfred thinks there's a ridiculous fuss made over me. He's got a point."

Thursday night, the Dementor made its check. The special one was ready to be used. It gave some consideration to its requirements when it fed. It did not want interference. The unique spirit would fill it with ecstasy, as it had before. Even an ineffectual Patronus would be an annoying distraction.

Thursday night, Harry started fidgeting in his sleep, waking himself with his own loud cry of terror, almost a scream. Julie couldn't soothe him.

Outside his door, Alex and Patrick had alerted. As instructed, Alex knocked on the door of Franz. Franz wanted to be informed if this happened. Harry had few secrets from the aurors. They knew he had nightmares, knew that he always wanted to walk until he was calm again, and were not the slightest degree surprised at how he trembled when he emerged from his room.

They were close to the beach again, and there was a cement footpath that went for miles close to the foreshore. It was a smooth, well lit footpath, and Harry walked fast, almost frantically at first, until the shaking died down. Aside from a nod, he said nothing to the aurors as Alex strode next to him, and Patrick came about fifteen yards behind, trying to watch for danger at the same time as keeping up.

The aurors had to be fit, but both Alex and Patrick were relieved when he finally slowed, leaned against a tree, and scanned the sky, before watching the soothing never-ending waves of the sea for a while. Alex didn't speak to him. It was up to Harry if he wanted to talk. He had never asked for bodyguards, and they knew he was entirely capable of revolting against them if he found them too much of a nuisance.

Patrick was shivering, and Alex wasn't far off it. Harry cast him a glance, "Sorry," and turned his steps back the way they'd come.

After a little, Harry asked Alex if he'd mind being present when he tried a little experiment the following night. He explained a bit further, as Alex questioned him. Alex was reluctant - it sounded dangerous to him, but Harry just said that he was going to do it anyway, and it would be better if Alex was there in case he struck problems. Alex agreed, though planning to tell Franz, in case Franz had more influence over Harry that he did. He knew that Harry thought a lot of Franz.

"Don't tell anybody," said Harry, "especially not Julie."

"I won't tell Julie," said Alex calmly.

Friday was a routine day, Fred in the room as Harry raised the strong magic twice. An observer panicked the first time, and tried to brush past him to the door. He could not get within two feet of him, until Harry gently allowed the magic to die down, and nodded at the man to go. The man was staring at him in fear. He was head of Public Relations, and meant to be preparing a news release.

Catherine was surprised too. She'd seen Harry quite hurt in the past when he'd been interrupted. Now it appeared that he'd worked out how to defend himself.

**x**


	21. Chapter 21

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 21:_

When they returned to the hotel, Julie was still out, Natalie and Leonard with her as her bodyguards. Catherine went to her room, and Harry decided that now was a good time.

"Alex?" he said. "In the corridor, and all I'm going to do is raise a fairly low intensity of magic, and then apparate. I want to see if I can apparate, and still have the magic available to me. Then, if it works, I'll do it at a higher intensity."

Alex nodded in a matter-of-fact way, and then casually said that he'd get Franz, turning his back on Harry, who was now frowning. He didn't want to have to argue with Franz about a fairly minor experiment. He knew theoretically that it could be dangerous, but he didn't feel nervous, and he thought he would if there was going to be a problem. He'd always had an excellent sense for danger...

Franz arrived, and he was frowning too. Leopold was with him.

"Are you determined on this, Harry?"

Harry was leaning casually against the wall, and only nodded. Franz reminded him, "The Dementors are all dead, remember?"

Harry agreed. "There's very strong evidence they're gone, and those eyewitness accounts of the last one's death - they were genuine. I can tell if the writer believes what he says."

Leopold suddenly spoke up, "You accepted a homework excuse from me once that was a lie - Professor Potter."

Harry dropped his cool look and laughed. "I always enjoyed particularly creative excuses!"

Franz said persuasively, "If you believe the Dementors are gone, then why do something you know that's dangerous?"

Harry said. "I need to be armed, just in case," and he shivered.

Franz looked at him a moment, and then turned to Leopold. "Other end of the corridor, and just make sure that no-one comes. Anything goes wrong, grab Catherine. She's in her room."

Harry said calmly, "I'm not going to need Catherine, or Alex. Asking Alex was just a precaution. I reckon I can either do it or I can't do it. That's all!"

He turned and followed Leo. "I'll apparate back toward you, not far. Then, if it succeeds, I'll try again with a bit more magic." And he grinned, the look suddenly lightening his features which had begun to look rather serious, even grim. "It'll get a shock if it tries to trap me again, and I'm totally ready!"

Leo stood steady as Harry took a few minutes to raise his magic. No-one liked the frightening feel in the air, but as Harry had said, he was not making it intense.

Harry was just standing, quite casual, cane in hand as always, then silently vanished from that spot, and reappeared a lot closer to Franz and Alex, at the other end of the corridor. But now he was no longer casual, instead he was rolling on the floor, in agony, clutching his head. There was no feel of strong magic left in the air.

Leo ran for Catherine. Franz and Alex went to Harry's side. His eyes were screwed tight shut, and his teeth bared. Tears of acute pain were on his cheeks. By the time Catherine arrived, he'd lost consciousness.

"What happened?" she snapped.

"An experiment," Franz said. "He called up his strong magic and then tried to apparate with it."

Catherine stared at him. "Why did you let him do something so damn silly?"

But then she turned her attention to Harry, and had Alex carry him to his bed, and felt his wrist for a pulse.

"He was in terrible pain," said Franz, "the same as when he tried to call up his strong magic and collapsed, remember years ago, after he'd been sick."

"He nearly died that time," said Catherine and instructed, "Look in his luggage. See if you can find the monitor he always used to keep with him." She hurried to her own room for the monitors and potions she thought she might need.

When Harry woke, not long later, he was still gripped by agony. He lay quite still, but his face was telling the tale. An American mediwizard stood beside Catherine, they were conferring in quiet voices on the other side of the room.

Harry wished they'd be silent, wished that everyone would just go away. He could hear Julie, too, crying. He was grateful when there was some quiet murmuring, and the crying receded. Sensor devices were taped to both forearms, one even to his chest. He heard an unfamiliar voice, quite low, but clear. "You can see - he's dying."

Catherine disagreed, "I've seen him like this before, and he recovered."

Harry didn't care, one way or the other. His world was just the pain.

Catherine came to him. "Do you want a spell to ease the pain?"

Harry didn't answer. He didn't know. But Catherine remembered the last time. He'd made an effort then to answer, and he'd said that a spell would kill him. She decided not to risk it.

The mediwizards on the other side of the room were watching their monitors, and then Catherine came close, feeling his pulse, touching his sweating forehead. Harry wished she'd go away. It hurt more when she touched. But he couldn't talk. That would hurt more, too.

After a while, he started to drift, and that was better. He was no longer suffering quite as much.

"It's looking very bad," said the American mediwizard.

In the sitting room, Natalie held Julie, who was still crying. Franz was looking grim, as were the other aurors. Only Manfred was undisturbed. If the last week's work was cancelled, there was something else he wanted to do.

There was a change. Catherine pointed to the pain monitor, and smiled at her colleague. Harry was terribly tired, and just slept, as the readings turned themselves around and started to rise. The American mediwizard left a couple of extra monitors for Catherine to borrow, including the pain monitor, and left.

When Harry woke, hours later, there was a dim light in the room, and Catherine and Franz were arguing. "The height of irresponsibility!" Catherine was saying to Franz, who was always so responsible, so competent.

"He was going to do it anyway - he's still terrified the Dementor will come back - you know that."

Harry said, "The Dementor's dead. It was just in case." And then he apologised, "I'm sorry to make so much trouble."

He was exhausted, but he felt so horribly sweaty. Dizzily, he rose. They hadn't even undressed him, just opened his shirt and taken his shoes off. He couldn't see his cane, so he simply conjured a new one. Franz went to his side as he headed to the bathroom.

Harry was still white, but gave him a half grin, and apologised for getting him into trouble with Catherine. "I'll be right now," he said, in what was unmistakably a dismissal, so Franz waited with Catherine, just in case he collapsed again. The pain had struck several times when he'd been sick like this before, but this time even the headache wasn't too bad.

When he came out, feeling a lot cleaner, and wearing a conjured dressing gown, Julie was there, and he hugged her and apologised. He'd pulled off all the sensors, and Catherine's monitors were dead, but she only took his pulse and asked how he was feeling.

"Starving hungry!" he said, and she laughed, and said they'd organise something for him. It was the early hours of the morning, but Alex shortly brought him some badly made sandwiches. Harry was very grateful. He felt thoroughly washed out, but he still wanted something to eat.

Catherine was organising. She was tired, and wanted to go to bed, but she was to be called if the pain came back. She looked dubiously at Julie. She didn't think much of Julie. "Will you stay, or would it be best for you to go back to the other room, and Franz can get someone to watch over him?"

Julie smiled at her husband, still eating hungrily, which she thought an excellent sign. "I'll stay."

The Dementor didn't come close. The morkon was ready to be used, and it was better not to risk detection until it was time. The Privileged One was not impatient. It knew the humans' pattern of movements, and expected to have its feed at their next destination. It just needed to know where they would be, so that he didn't have to take Harry far - just a place where it would not be disturbed, and a place where the other humans could find him easily afterward, so that they could restore him to health.

The acute pain didn't come back, but Harry was a long way from his usual self. Catherine was cross and tired in the morning. She was over sixty, and it had been a very late night, as well as stressful. Harry was not just a patient, she had become very fond of him, and she'd watched as the vital readings plunged lower and lower. At one time, death seemed imminent.

She gave him a thorough examination, talked very severely about his utter stupidity, and forbade him to do anything at all for the whole of that day. "LV just 87," she said, "and it was right down to nearly dead last night, and you'd only just got back to your normal."

"Sorry, Catherine," said Harry, being very obedient.

Julie sat in the corner, smiling inwardly at her husband's meekness.

"I'll come back in two hours," Catherine announced. "And you just sit or lie down! Don't do a thing!"

"Yes, Catherine," and Julie smirked again.

Harry turned his gaze to Julie. "She said to lie down," and his expression and voice changed, "Want to join me?"

Julie was tempted, but gave a glance at the door. Fred guarded outside.

Harry assured her, "We won't be disturbed," and he was radiating purest sexuality. Julie succumbed.

When Franz came to see him ten minutes later, Fred nodded at the sign that had appeared outside the door, _'Do not disturb,'_ and said, "There's a silencing shield."

Franz laughed and went away. It looked like Harry was recovering fast.

Harry vanished the sign a while later. He didn't want Julie to see it. She would have been embarrassed at the obvious indicator of their activities, but it was better than being interrupted. Julie was sleeping again. It had been a disturbed night.

Harry, on the other hand, was hungry. When Franz found him, he and Fred were in the kitchen of the small hotel, while Harry begged for something to eat. The head cook looked at him impatiently for a moment, decided he was far too thin, and delegated an assistant to make him a good feed.

Harry was well behaved for a time, and when Catherine came to find him, he was in the sitting room, with his feet up, watching some very bad TV. The healer was feeling better by now, and was less severe.

"LV 121," she announced. "You're making a quick recovery."

She still frowned at him, and suddenly asked why he didn't still bring the red book monitor with him.

"It no longer works," Harry said casually, not mentioning that it no longer worked because he'd turned it into a flash of blue flame. Catherine grunted, and went off to report to Franz - there was no need for any change to their plans to head to New York the following day, and she even expected that Harry would be able to work Monday, though maybe putting off any difficult cases to later in the week. The planned weekend activities were out for Harry, though.

Franz joined Harry. "The experiment was a failure then?"

Harry, the scientist and researcher, answered him. "No experiment's a failure - just that sometimes you get an answer not to your taste."

Sunday, they checked in to the large and luxurious hotel in New York. This time, when Harry wanted an extra feed, he just called room service, rather than strolling into the kitchen. This time, their accommodation was known, and there was a sizeable group of witches and wizards gathered in the foyer hoping to catch a glimpse of the great wizard, or in the case of two, hoping to collect the reward for killing the monster.

They were dealt with, smoothly and competently by the American force of aurors. Franz was informed.

**x**


	22. Chapter 22

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 22:_

Monday morning, Harry went to Catherine's room, as ordered.

"I don't know how you lose weight so quickly," she complained. "But energy levels are perfectly reasonable, and LV is back up to 166 - you shouldn't have any trouble. Just take a bit of care."

Franz had already had a word with the American Coordinator, and the cases that had been previously attempted by Madam Diefenberger were put off to Thursday or Friday.

The wizarding area was close to the big muggle hotel, entered through a bland and boring office building. There was a large square, several streets leading off, and now there was a new building, overlooking the square, prepared especially for their visits. There was a large work room, with chairs behind a transparent wall for observers, and an extra large waiting room, slightly separated from the work room for security reasons.

But the American Ministry wanted Harry to be seen, they wanted American wizardry to know what a good job they were doing. The room where lunches and morning and afternoon teas were to be served was across the square, so that they had to walk or apparate to get there. This may have been less secure, but there was no stinting on adding extra protection, and the crowds were kept at a distance.

The young aurors, Patrick and Manfred, were to flank Harry whenever he was seen outside, and there were to be always two others as well. The Americans would cover further away. Their experiences in Italy and France had convinced the Ministry that the precautions were justified, though it seemed very elaborate to Harry.

As soon as he saw the unmistakable signs of reporters and photographers, though, he changed his mind. The aurors were very good at keeping away nuisances as well as potential killers. He thought he'd been just a teenager when he'd made that simple rule for himself, no interviews, no autographs.

They apparated this time direct from their sitting room to a nominated spot in the square. Franz going first, which made it easy for Harry, as he just apparated to Franz. The other aurors surrounded him, in their assigned positions. Witches and wizards in the crowd stood on tiptoe as they tried to see the great wizard. They had a better chance than usual, as neither Patrick nor Manfred were especially big. Harry scanned the crowd, feeling for danger, and then did a careful scan of the sky, even though he knew that this mannerism was laughed at. Everyone knew the Dementors were gone.

The routine started. There was just one case early, that turned out to be difficult. Harry hesitated a moment, then stated that he would try the telepathic cure. There were no problems, and the wizard was cured, with little effort from Harry.

The crowd had their reward, as the group headed across the square for morning tea. It seemed risky to Franz, who suggested they have a break where they were - morning tea wasn't really needed. Harry said that would seem very rude, as they'd probably gone to some trouble to organise for them. He already wanted another feed.

An American mediwizard joined Catherine, surprised to see him apparently perfectly well. In appreciation of her help, and at her request, she had a place among the observers for the day. She was formally introduced to Harry, too, Maureen Pemberton. He hadn't been in a condition for introductions when she'd helped watch over him Friday night.

Another difficult case cropped up. And this time, the patient revolted at the intrusion of the mind that was involved in the telepathic cure. She was apologetic, Harry shrugged, and just said that it was no problem, but that instead, she'd have to put up with the sometimes frightening feeling of strong magic in the air.

Catherine was dubious. She hadn't wanted Harry to do that today, but she'd promised she wouldn't fuss, and left him to it. It hadn't even occurred to Harry that there might be a problem. He just raised the intensity sufficient to cure the patient, and let Fred show her out. No problem.

Lunch time, and again, Harry did a careful scan of the watching crowd, and then the sky. Manfred, close on his left, thought that for a great wizard, he didn't seem very brave. Barbara, Sarah, and Ginny all joined them for lunch. Barbara and Sarah in their respective roles as Minister for Magic, and Department for International Cooperation, and Ginny because Barbara wanted to give her a reward. She was doing an excellent job as Coordinator of the trips - she should experience one.

Harry greeted them all with pleasure, collecting a hug and kiss from each one. Ginny thought she'd best start addressing him as Harry as everyone else did, rather than Grand-dad. It brought a lot fewer surprised looks.

The Dementor had found a suitable place. It was prepared. The special one was ready to be used. It was time. There were many witches and wizards about, but the Privileged One had nothing to fear from them.

The afternoon's work was going quickly. They were ahead of schedule, and could have completed the work by afternoon teatime, except that three patients had not yet arrived. Much of the crowd had dispersed. It was chilly, and many had stood in the square for hours. A few persevered, though they wished the great wizard was just a bit more impressive looking.

A murmur went through the watchers as an auror appeared. Then there was Harry Potter, an auror on his left side, and smiling at a red-haired witch on his right, another auror beside, and one behind. Ginny was telling him a bit of news from home, another wedding was planned.

"Not another Davenport!" Harry exclaimed, and Ginny nodded, grinning.

Harry flinched. He'd felt that alien spell before. He stopped dead, "Noooo!" he said, and it was a whimper. The colour drained from his face, and he trembled violently, so much so that Manfred grabbed his arm. The Dementor was not yet in sight.

Harry forgot that he could conjure an instant shield, didn't try and raise the strong magic, just stood, shaking in terror, as the Dementor appeared as if from nowhere, and stopped, hovering in front of him. The aurors whipped out their wands, and Ginny also sent a strong Patronus spell.

The Dementor hovered. It was feeling an acute disappointment. The special one had been ready for use when it had checked just a few days before. Now the spirit was low. The Privileged One moved back, made a slight gesture that removed the magic that would have prevented the special one from disapparating, and then vanished. Harry was surrounded by the Patronus spells that were supposed to protect him.

He was being held by Ginny on one side, and Franz elbowed Manfred aside, and came to him on the other. Harry heard Manfred's clear thought, _Why, he's just a frightened old man._

Harry had never been so frightened in all his life. And he continued to tremble violently, unable to walk for the shaking that took him.

"It's gone," they were saying to him, and Ginny said, "See, it was just an ordinary one, it took off when we sent the Charms."

Harry was seeing horrors, and when they tried to turn him back toward where they worked, he stumbled and would have fallen if he'd not been supported.

Manfred had stopped looking for danger, and was watching him with a sneer on his face. Franz snapped at him to do his job, to leave Harry to him.

Catherine was with them then, and Maureen. "What _was_ that?" Maureen said.

Franz was trying to get an answer out of Harry? He was asking insistently, "Was it the one? Was it the one that was supposed to have died?"

Harry couldn't answer. It was questionable whether he could even hear. His eyes were stretched wide open, as he still saw horrors.

Catherine stated firmly that he must be taken back to his room.

The American Coordinator was fussing around too. There had been a Dementor, he recognised it from pictures. But it was only one, and it had been driven off, though he didn't know the spell. What was wrong with the great wizard? Hadn't he killed thousands of Dementors? Or was that just a lie? Something for publicity maybe? Was the great wizard just a fraud then? Maybe he could only break spells and was not a fighter at all.

A photographer was pleased that he'd stayed so long. America had seldom seen Dementors, and now they'd been supposed to be gone.

They walked Harry back to his room, as he was obviously unfit to apparate, and didn't appear sensible enough to cooperate as a passenger. He stumbled, a shambling figure, pale-faced, pathetic, supported by Franz on one side, and Alex on the other. Back in his room, they sat him in a chair, and Catherine came back shortly with a steaming potion in hand.

"Drink!" she said commandingly, and his eyes turned away from the nightmare, and he obediently drank. He still trembled violently, but this time when Franz asked him if it was the one, he nodded. It was the one.

The Dementor had something to convey, and Manfred happened to be in a convenient position. Manfred heard its chilling communication.

_The special one is not yet fit to be used. The special one must not die, and must not weaken himself. If either of these things happen, his young one will be used instead. The special one must be told this, without delay. _

Manfred tried to drive it away with a Patronus spell. He could make a very powerful Patronus. The Dementor just hovered in front of him. Manfred's silver animal lost its form and vanished.

_ The special one must be told this, without delay, _communicated the Privileged One again._ If the special one is not told, other people will suffer the consequences of your lack of obedience, including yourself, if you are convenient. _

Manfred stepped back, getting out a strangled, "I'll do what you say." Suddenly Harry's undisguised fear seemed more understandable.

Catherine and Maureen were with Harry. Alex, too. Franz was busy organising a communication with Jebedee.

Manfred did exactly what the Dementor ordered, knocking on Harry's door. Harry still trembled, sitting in his chair, but sitting forward now, head hanging. Alex denied Manfred entry, and told him to go to Franz, but Harry raised his head, and in a tired voice said, "Let him in."

Alex stepped aside, and Manfred repeated to Harry what the Dementor had communicated to him. Harry just nodded and thanked him.

Julie entered the room, a pile of purchases in her hands, Natalie was behind her, with more packages. They were laughing about the sweetest little boutique they had found.

Julie looked at her ashen faced husband, who had still not been able to overcome the continuous quivering that shook his body.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

In a perfectly steady voice, Harry answered, "The Dementor's coming back for me. You have to go to Lyn's place until it's over. Keep away from me, keep away from Adrian." He stood and went to her, kissing her tenderly. "Don't argue with me, just go to Lyn's, and don't think about things. I'll do my best to protect Adrian."

Julie's eyes shone with tears. She reached out, touched her husband's face, and packed.

Harry was still standing, and turned to Alex. "I'll be back in a little while. There's no point cancelling the work. It can find me wherever I go." He disapparated, appearing at Cissy's place.

Adrian was silent and obedient. The Maguires wondered what was wrong. Even now Harry's face was white, and his body quivered, but his bearing produced instant cooperation.

A short time later, Adrian had packed a few things to keep himself occupied, and was tucked away in a hiding place, on Harry's instructions, unknown to himself. Margaret and Vicky would organise his care, and he was not to communicate with anyone, especially not his father. Cissy was to put a shield over his hiding place, hopefully to make it difficult for the Dementor to find him. "Until it's over," he told Cissy, and only looked horrors when she asked what he meant.

Orders were relayed to Kate, and Kate moved to a place in London, staying with a cousin. The cousin was thrilled to have her. Everyone loved Kate.

Maureen and Catherine were still in Harry's room when he reappeared, silently in the corner. Harry assumed that it was only because he had accidentally rendered himself unfit that he was not right now at the point of death, and facing more long, long months of recovery.

Catherine did her readings, Harry not objecting. She conferred with Maureen, who looked surprised and wanted to do her own measures. LV 189.

Harry gave Catherine a look of resentment. LV in normal people was always 100, rarely as much as 105. But then he thought wryly to himself that it scarcely mattered if people knew. No doubt it would be in single figures again soon. He couldn't think of anything he could do to avoid the future.

"I'm going swimming," he said briefly to the healers, and appeared a few minutes later, in swimmers and with a towel over his shoulder.

Alex and Fred were outside his door, gaping at each other in amazement. Harry ignored them. He knew where the pool was in this hotel, and took himself there, swimming smoothly and rhythmically, swimming so that he didn't have to think. Alex and Fred watched for danger, as always. To Harry, it seemed pointless. At the same time, it was some comfort. He wasn't alone.

He was abstracted at dinner, scarcely answering when he was spoken to. Afterward, he said to Franz that he was going out, and might not be back until morning. Franz argued, saying that he needed protection.

Harry looked up, and again he was seeing horrors. "You can't protect me," he said.

In the morning, he reported to Catherine, who treated his bruises, and took her measures. Again the LV was up. In spite of his terrors, in spite of a fist fight with two thugs in the evening, in spite of whatever he'd done afterward, he was getting better. It was not only Harry who thought that the Dementor was only waiting on him to be fully fit before he was used again. Catherine told him what the LV was when he asked, and then wondered whether she should have done, as again he had a fit of trembling.

Tuesday, Harry worked through his patients quickly and easily, no longer either scanning the crowds or the sky. The aurors could look after human threats, and he already knew the worst that was coming from the sky.

American wizarding newspapers carried a picture of a tall dark figure hovering in front of the group that surrounded the great wizard, and a day later, the Daily Prophet showed the same picture. In some areas, Harry Potter was blamed for misleading wizardry - for pretending that he'd exterminated the Dementors.

At Harry's home, they already knew. Everyone practised their Patronus spells again, but it was not expected they were under threat. Ian Maguire came to try and find out what was going on, and was told for his own safety, that he should stay right away, and definitely so should Connor. That they didn't know how long Adrian would be gone.

Hermione organised what she expected to need, but Ben would come this time, or maybe she'd ask Catherine. Hermione thought she was too old. She did not expect Harry to survive a third time, even if he was frightened for Adrian. She wondered if he might go insane. She was sure that anyone else would, if threatened with repeated use by a Dementor.

Harry went home after his day's work, slipped his bodyguards, and went swimming in the hotel pool. They found him after an hour, just as he went off with a strange woman. His eyes flicked to Natalie, but he didn't acknowledge her presence, and she took guard outside a hotel door that wasn't his own.

He was there at dinner, scarcely speaking to anyone, even though Jebedee had arrived, and only disapparated again, walking the streets of New York, aimlessly, by himself. He walked three quarters of the night, and no-one tried to mug him or molest him, so that he was denied the consolation of a fistfight. He stopped at a brothel he passed, but became restless again even before he chose a woman, and left.

He slept in Central Park, deeply, dreamlessly.

He was woken by a quite gentle nudge from a council worker's boot. The worker looked at his haunted face, and saw his renewed fit of trembling, and suggested he take himself to hospital. Harry picked up his cane and thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

He apparated straight into the swimming pool area of the hotel, making a hotel worker jump. He had a quick shower, conjured himself some swimmers and a towel, and swam for an hour before anyone knew he was back.

Jebedee was waiting in his room. But Harry would only say he was hungry and going for breakfast. "Harry..." said his friend.

But Harry shook his head and stepped back. He could not talk. He was not thinking about it. He couldn't make himself die, he couldn't hide, all he could do was wait until it came for him.

Wednesday's work happened to be tough. Manfred was with him, as it seemed he was the only one who was relatively unmoved by watching a condemned man go through the motions. Harry was casual with the strong magic, using it easily three times that day, a bit tired after. LV 210, Catherine noted, when she caught him, but she said nothing except that energy was too low to apparate.

Harry apparated to Paris, finding a brothel more to his taste than the ones in America. It was not the same as he'd patronised sometimes in the years before he'd married Julie, as his continuing appearance of youth might be suspicious. There were location devices planted on him now, but they didn't find him, as no-one could apparate between continents, and no-one looked in France.

Harry thought he needed a great deal of comforting. There were two girls at the brothel. And when he came back, he looked for the woman he'd met the previous night, and slept with her all night. It seemed he'd stopped having nightmares.

His friends thought that he should talk. But when Jebedee took his arm, and said that he should allow his friends to look after him, he only looked away and said that he was very grateful but that his friends couldn't help.

They found him that night, wrapped up in his cape, sound asleep again in Central Park. Leonard and Leopold were undecided, he was sleeping so peacefully. When they woke him, he obediently went with them, and Leopold stayed in his room, as he curled up again in bed to sleep.

The function on Friday night had been planned a long time, but no-one was more surprised than his companions when Harry was present, eating his meal as if there was nothing wrong.

But when a beautiful witch made overtures, he only felt her mind to make sure she wasn't planning on having a baby sired by the great wizard, and took her to his room without hesitation. Afterward, though, he was restless again, and left her sleeping in his bed. A half hour later, he was taking on a man with a knife.

When Manfred and Leonard found him, they saw the first smile he'd worn in days, a fierce grin as he cautiously circled the man. Leonard was hesitant, but Manfred drew his wand, meaning to stun his opponent.

He jumped, though, as he heard a voice in his mind, _Don't you __dare__ interfere!_

Harry hadn't even glanced his way, not taking his eyes off the experienced knife fighter. Suddenly his cane knocked the knife out of the man's right hand, and he stepped forward, and knocked him out.

But Harry looked at the fallen figure with regret. "Too fast. I wasn't finished."

His gaze switched to Leonard and Manfred then. Manfred rashly tried orders, putting on an authoritative voice, "Time to come home now, Harry."

Harry looked away, "I don't think so, not yet. I want to fight tonight."

"Harry!" said Manfred, in a would-be warning tone.

Harry was suddenly taunting, "What about you? Are you game to take on the frightened old man?"

Leonard looked from one to another in dismay. But Manfred looked down his long nose, and said, "Don't be silly, it's our job to look after you."

"Pity," said Harry, "I'd quite like to hit you," and he silently disapparated.

He appeared again not far away, a thought rendering the location devices they'd planted on him inoperative for an hour. Franz and Jebedee were in the sitting room, waiting for Manfred and Leonard to report in, preferably with Harry. They were wondering why Harry was tolerating the location devices. They both expected him to know about them, no matter how tiny and inconspicuous they were.

Harry didn't know himself. He wasn't doing any self analysis these days, just surviving because he had no choice.

Leonard and Manfred reported in, not concealing the fact that Harry had challenged Manfred to a fight. Leonard looked at Manfred with dislike, and said, "He said that he'd like to hit Manfred."

Franz grunted acknowledgment, thinking that Harry had a point. It was too late to change him now, but Manfred would not be assigned to Harry again. Though, of course, that might not arise. Once the Dementor came back, the best that could be hoped for was many more months of slow recovery.

When the location device started functioning again, it was Leopold and Leonard who found Harry. This time he was looking contented, sitting with his back to a tree, and contemplating two groaning bodies on the ground not far away. He looked up at them smiling. "There's a fast food place not far away if you want to join me," he said.

The young aurors had never known Harry like this, though the training manual that was no longer supposed to be used gave the procedure for when he got himself into fights - only interfere if he looked like getting hurt.

Harry was laughing good company as they ate the greasy fast food in the large sitting room of their luxury hotel. It was as if he'd forgotten the Dementor. He acknowledged Jebedee and Franz, but only suggested they should go to bed, they were supposed to be leaving early the next morning, and mentioning just by the way, that he would not be coming home with them.

He was surprised but pleased to find a woman in his bed. He'd forgotten his earlier escapade, but put on the usual silencing shield, and commenced to wake her enough to make love again. And then again, he slept deeply, dreamlessly.

The woman let herself out in the morning, nodding rather self-consciously to Leonard and Leopold who still guarded his room.

**x**


	23. Chapter 23

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 23:_

Franz and Jebedee wanted to take Harry home with them. They thought that he was in no fit state to look after himself. Jebedee went in, and woke him. They were supposed to be leaving soon. Harry had been looking quite contented as he slept, but started trembling again when Jebedee wanted to talk seriously. His look was veiled, as he said that he'd just have to have a shower - he couldn't talk until he was clean.

When he came out, Jebedee had a breakfast waiting for him in the room, so that he'd have no excuse to avoid talking.

Harry helped himself, eating hungrily. He was still always hungry, condemned man or not.

Jebedee waited a while before starting. Then quietly, gently, seriously, he started explaining why Harry had to stay with his protectors.

Harry listened, but afterwards just said that he had to stay away from home, stay away from Julie, stay away from Adrian, that wherever he was, the Dementor would come. And not even trembling, looking at the wall, he said to Jebedee that he couldn't hide, couldn't die, and that it was most unlikely to allow him the chance to kill it. He flashed a look at Jebedee, and said that he was open to suggestions, of course.

Jebedee poured himself a coffee, and only sipped a moment before asking whether he was going to continue with the spell-breaking.

Harry shrugged, "Might as well, I've nothing better to do right now."

There'd been a lot of talk about Harry since Monday. Nearly all the aurors knew him well, and were his friends. They, too, were distressed. They knew what was in store for him, and were helpless to prevent it. Alex was the worst. He'd seen it the last time. Aurors were tough men. They tried very hard not to let it show.

As much as possible, they wanted to look after him. And Jebedee thought that maybe Harry didn't really want to be alone at this time, or those location devices would not be still on his glasses, on his shoes, and attached deep in pockets of clothes. And in his deepest, most persuasive voice, he said that Harry should come home with them, and that Ginny had relayed to him in confidence that his place in London was available for his use, and that Adrian was hidden someplace different.

Harry looked blindly at him, and then stood and leaned casually against the wall, looking coolly remote. And then he nodded.

Jebedee gave a sigh of relief, and rose, "Half an hour, then. We meet in the sitting room."

Harry nodded again, taking a few deep breaths after Jebedee left. It was very hard to keep calm sometimes these days.

Twenty minutes later, Catherine knocked. "Niscos and weight," she said in a matter-of-fact voice, "Beginning and end of the week, as we agreed."

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but maybe he should have some idea of how much time he had, and asked.

"Weight way down," said Catherine, "You're probably fretting it off. Energy good, LV 241."

Harry nodded, expressionless. Probably only a week or two then.

Franz looked up with relief when Harry joined the group in the sitting room. Like Jebedee, he thought him unfit to look after himself. No-one overloaded him with sympathy, which they suspected would be too hard for him to bear, just quietly discussed the week's work.

Fred mentioned to Patrick that he must be looking forward to seeing Susan again, and Patrick smiled and agreed that he certainly was. Their relationship had taken strides since they'd first met in Hogsmeade. They'd watched a certain film together, and it had been so traumatic for Susan that Patrick had needed to console her in bed. Strictly therapeutic, of course. After that first time, there'd been meetings, but then he'd had this three weeks' duty to do.

That film had been difficult for Patrick to watch, too, but his curiosity was overwhelming, and he looked at Harry in a different light now. In the past, the aurors, especially the trainees, had always been exposed to those films, but that was discouraged once Jebedee became head of the department. Patrick had never seen them before. And it brought something else more greatly to his awareness. Those films had been taken forty years ago, and yet Harry looked almost exactly the same, in face and in body. His hair had a lot more white in it, but that was the only change. The young aurors tended to treat Harry almost as an age mate, but he was eighty-nine years old. Others, half his age, tended to act paternal, even when they'd known him from the time they qualified.

On the plane trip back, as usual, they had their own aeroplane, their own pilot. Harry spent most of the trip in the co-pilot's seat, listening to Barry's stories. The muggle's calm voice and his mild boasting were easier to tolerate than the disguised pity of the aurors.

Ginny joined him later, but only gave him the family gossip - there were so many of them now. And she asked him if he was going to the Finch-Fletchley's party that night.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Would they want me?"

"Of course they would! I'm not sure if they think you're a monster, but no party that has you as a guest is quickly forgotten. And that's very important to the Finch-Fletchley's!"

Harry grinned at the grand-daughter who looked so much like his first wife, and was named after her. "Will you be there?"

Ginny nodded.

Harry said, "I might get into mischief!" and his eyes were gleaming.

"All the better!" said Ginny. "One wouldn't want a boring party!" She added. "There's the Ministry Ball in a couple of weeks, too." But Harry didn't want to think that far ahead, and made no comment.

Franz was sitting close, and listening closely. There would be aurors on duty at that party, no doubt Jebedee would decide whether it was better to assign him friends, or those whom he would not recognise.

Harry didn't linger at the Ministry, just sending his luggage to Sirius Black's place, and then apparating himself. The house was warm and welcoming, as he'd seldom seen it. Two House Elves fussed over him. Kappy and Trina were descendants of Dobby and Winky, whom he'd made friends with when he was just a child. The family had served him from the time he was a young adult, happy in his service, but always free, as had become the tradition in this unusual family of House Elves.

It was known among the House Elves where he would be, the hidden house had never been hidden from these creatures. Mail waited for him, and clean clothes waited for him, and there were provisions in the house, ready for as long as he chose to stay.

Harry sat himself down in front of a warm fire, butter beer in hand, and felt as comfortable as he could feel these days. The House Elves were out of sight now. A good servant knows when to be invisible. The chair was one he'd conjured when he was seventeen, only just left school. Conjured items never last longer than a few months, the record was sixteen months, set nearly two hundred years before. Harry and Cissy were exceptions. Cissy's lasted about five years, she'd recently told him, but Harry's appeared to last indefinitely.

Harry leaned his head back in his comfortable chair, and shut his eyes wearily. Abruptly the chair vanished, and he was dumped on the floor. The trivial hurt was too much. Without a sound, he rose, apparated to a place that he knew, in the middle of a thick forest, put a silencing shield around himself, and stared into the distance until the crying began, wild sobs of a totally unbearable despair.

The attention of the Privileged One was caught. It was very satisfactory. The special one would take a few weeks yet probably, before it was time, but he hadn't made himself die, and he hadn't weakened himself.

Harry slept afterwards a while, exhausted by his own emotion. It was very cold, but it was a different cold from that a Dementor brought with it, and Harry only wrapped himself a bit tighter in his cape. He thought he'd like to die there, by himself. If only it were that easy. It was his hunger that took him back to Sirius Black's place. No matter what, his body thought it needed food.

Kappy and Trina served him with an excellent dinner, and afterward, Harry systematically vanished all his old furniture, and conjured new things. He had enough to worry about without bruises.

He went to the party late. He needed to make sure that Ginny was there first, so that he could apparate to her. It was a large area in the open, warmed by fires and by magic. It was a big party, probably about eighty guests, and more still coming.

The Finch-Fletchleys were thrilled to see Harry Potter. It seemed that they didn't care whether he was the great wizard or the monster. He was famous, and that was all that counted.

Harry circulated a little, talking to the aurors, Grant and Simon, whom he suspected were on duty. They were both married, with children. Simon's Daniel was only a couple of months younger than Adrian. They'd be at Hogwarts together, the year after next.

The hissing started from a group of around a dozen. Harry looked at them, and a grin started to their surprise. Many of them were young men. Drink in one hand, cane in his left hand, as always, he went to confront them. He singled out one. "You hiss at me! I challenge you to a duel!"

A wizard is scorned who refuses a challenge like that, although Harry Potter always had. But how could William Riley win a duel against Harry Potter? He looked around at his friends in desperation, not knowing what to do. The great wizard was known never to duel, or almost never. He'd killed someone in Spain a decade or so ago.

A friend of William's had an idea. "What about a muggle duel instead? You've always said that wizard duelling was barbaric!"

Harry pondered. "I was feeling a bit barbaric today - but all right, a muggle duel!" as if that wasn't what he'd had in mind all along. He looked at the young wizard. "Well, Mr. Riley?"

Mr. Riley stepped toward him, thinking that after all, it was an old man who carried a cane, and suddenly he was eager. He'd give the monster a thrashing, and never thought how inconsistent it was to call him a monster, and yet be perfectly confident that the monster would not use magic against him.

"Don't you others go away!" said Harry. "One's not going to be enough for me tonight!"

The aurors were close, but it was only to be a fistfight after all, and Jebedee had said to try not to interfere. The two whom Harry didn't know had been especially told not to interfere unless absolutely necessary.

An audience quickly gathered. Wizardkind was a tough breed, on the whole, and not many shrank away from the entertainment.

Harry let William try and hit first, just swaying to the side to avoid it. William swiftly lost his temper, and fought stupidly. Harry was lightning fast, dodged easily, ducked when required, and only when William was drawing back in exhaustion, gave him a fairly gentle tap on his jaw. He should bear a bruise to mark the occasion.

"Next?" he said, a fierce grin in his face, and not even breathing fast. The friend of William's stepped forward. Again it was only play for Harry. Then another. He had a couple of bruises now, but had still not really hurt anyone.

Manfred Cahill, the auror whom Harry had take such a dislike to, and who'd been soundly rebuked by Jebedee for his lack of judgement, called out to him. "Hey, Monster. I'm off duty, now. How about me?"

Harry turned to him, and his grin stretched a bit wider. "Love to," he said.

Manfred was a different proposition, Manfred was muggle-born, and his father had taught him boxing. And he was an auror. There was some tough physical training involved in becoming a qualified auror.

The bout went a long time, the two fit young wizards circling each other warily, and letting fly whenever there was an opening. Harry had to work harder this time, ignoring the insults that Manfred threw at him. That was a muggle tradition, and Harry had never bothered with it.

Harry had his cane, but it was strictly to keep his balance, though he felt it fair to use it if his opponent had a knife. Manfred gave him an opening, and Harry hit him hard several times, twisting and dodging to avoid his follow-up attack, leaving Manfred bruised and off balance.

Manfred stepped back, breathing hard, but not retreating. "Dementor food," he called Harry.

Harry's grin was wiped off his face, his forehead scar blazed suddenly into life, he dropped his cane, and for the first time, he set out to hurt.

Manfred bent forward as hard blows from both of Harry's fists hurt him, and then Harry's fist took him on the chin, knocking him out, and breaking his jaw.

Harry stepped back, staggering to the left. Someone handed him his cane. He'd started to tremble.

A woman went to the side of Manfred, examining, touching his face. "You broke his jaw!" she said accusingly.

Harry was trembling violently, depending heavily on his cane to keep his balance. "Sorry," he got out, and turned his back to walk away, almost losing his balance again as he did.

Ginny came to his left side. "Just wait a minute," she said. "You know you'll be fine in a minute."

Harry didn't think he'd ever be fine again, but obediently stopped, and said, "Yes, of course."

There was a group of young woman watching them, and he smiled generally on them. Maybe later. And when the trembling died down, he spoke to Mrs. Finch-Fletchley for a while, who was tickled pink with him in spite of his fighting, or maybe because of his fighting. Her party was going to be remembered for years!

It was only the aurors and a few others who knew that the Privileged One was coming back for Harry. To most of wizardry, the Dementor photographed in front of him was just a stray survivor that had been driven off with Patronus Charms. But they all knew how Harry had been used when a prisoner in the Dementor stronghold, and word quickly spread about the insult that had provoked the savage attack that had left Manfred Cahill with a broken jaw. 'Dementor Food,' he'd been called, though he'd totally ignored all the other insults that Manfred had thrown at him. No-one else would ever again call Harry Potter, 'Dementor Food.'

Manfred was quickly cured by the healer present, but left, bitterly angry. Harry had made an enemy, but he had a worse enemy to worry about than an auror with a few bruises. And at the moment, he was just bent on enjoying anything that might help him forget for a time what was coming.

Fights were good, and sex was good. It didn't really matter who, and when a very young witch made overtures, slipping an arm around him, and inviting him to follow her to her bedroom, he smiled, Why not? She gave him the apparation coordinates, he suggested she go first, and he apparated to her. Why not?

Harry was a good lover, but if he'd realised it was her first time, he would have avoided her. A girl's first lover should hang around for at least a few weeks, but Harry was only interested in a woman now for a few hours. Life was so short. As always, the instant after his climax, without any hint of what he was doing, he worked the spell that vanished semen. He did not want more accidental children.

Experienced witches were likely to guess at what he'd done, especially as it was widely known that Harry Potter did not require a wand to work magic. The girl did not know enough to guess, and in any case, had no intention of getting pregnant.

The girl was a bit sore afterward, but she'd boast of the encounter for the rest of her life. Harry Potter was notoriously difficult for a witch to get into bed. Harry hadn't been in contact with Julie or Adrian, or anyone at home since the Dementor had appeared. He had a fear that anyone his life touched, even if he only thought about them, would also be hurt by the evil that was coming to him.

He'd fought four wizards that night, and he'd been taken to a woman's bed, but he was still restless. He walked the streets of London, just walking, not thinking.

After a while, two aurors walked behind him, and after a couple more hours, Simon caught up with him, and suggested it was time for Harry to go to bed.

Harry looked at him, confused. Bed? Yes. Good idea. He wanted to just wrap himself up and lie down, but Simon bullied him into cooperating as a passenger for him while he apparated to his own home. Simon's wife Christine appeared, in dressing gown, her eyes still bleary with sleep, waved her wand at the spare bed, which instantly made itself with clean sheets, and Simon helped Harry organise himself. He was acting as if he was drunk, a bit, but Simon was pretty sure it was just exhaustion.

When Harry woke late Sunday morning, he stared around him at the prettily decorated bedroom in confusion. But his clothing from the previous night was there, neatly folded and cleaned. Someone was obviously looking after him. He'd best leave, no-one else should have to watch when it came for him. But no, he probably had a week or two yet.

A boy who looked the same age as Adrian waited outside the door, getting to his feet the moment he appeared, and asking whether he wanted to know where the bathroom was. Harry said yes, please. He'd ask where he was a bit later. He had no memory of Simon bringing him home.

"My name's Daniel," said the boy, and now there was a girl, too, a little older, who introduced herself as Penelope.

Harry shook their hands, and said they were to call him Harry. Something clicked, and he asked if their Dad was Simon. That was better, at least he knew where he was. The boy followed him into the bedroom, and watched with fascination as Harry found his wand, and conjured jeans and underpants for himself.

And then Harry started working on a shirt. He wanted a bright, bright shirt. In the end, it was a brilliant sunshine yellow, and had a moving image of a little skewbald mare bucking and playing, with every now and then, Milly, the fat sheep, trotting around as well. Daniel watched open-mouthed, as Harry worked on his shirt, and then put it on.

Harry regarded himself in the mirror with a grin. Everybody else thought his creations hilarious, but Harry liked them.

Jebedee, Simon and Catherine waited for him.

"Goodness," he said, "Quite the reception committee!"

The three were still staring at his shirt, fascinated. Christine bustled in, holding a tray. "They said you'd be hungry, so I made a lot," she said.

"Thanks, Christine," Harry said, smiling at her, but Christine was now staring at his shirt, her tray beginning to sag perilously in her hands, until Simon took it from her.

They let him eat then, Daniel and Penelope watching in fascination. They knew their Dad often worked with the great wizard, but had never seen him before. He was so famous.

"Did you really kill all the Dementors?" Daniel suddenly asked him.

Harry just shook his head. "Impossible to say how many survived."

"Mum says the official estimate was between six and eight thousand dead."

Harry nodded, "I heard."

He was finished, felt a great deal better, and took the tray back to the kitchen, where Christine bustled about, apparently too shy to join them. And then he leaned his back to the wall, and made conversation with Christine. He didn't feel like talking to Jebedee and Catherine, he'd rather tell Christine about Milly, who liked to be stunned because she always had good things to eat afterward.

Jebedee and Catherine looked at each other. "We might have to carry him off kicking and screaming," suggested Catherine.

"You're not going to hurt Harry, are you?" asked Penelope, frowning on them.

Jebedee reassured. "No, no, we just want to look after him. But sometimes Harry doesn't want to be looked after."

Penelope regarded them dubiously. "You'd better not hurt him," she declared, "And he's not a monster, either!"

In the kitchen, Harry said ruefully, "I suppose I'd best go and face the music, but thanks for breakfast, and for the hospitality."

"I'm surprised you don't have a hangover," said Christine.

"I never get hangovers."

He strolled back out, Catherine blinking at him again, as Milly suddenly turned straight to her, and bleated.

"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked, sitting down again.

"No, it was a fair fight if you're talking about Manfred," said Jebedee, "And he's been healed in any case."

"Then what?"

"We just wanted to know if you can work again this week, Tuesday to Friday, as well as the week after. Ginny has an urgent request."

Harry looked straight at him, "Where on Tuesday?"

"Ginny didn't say," said Jebedee smoothly.

Harry was thinking that it might make it easier to have some sort of a structure while he waited, though he was pretty sure that the 'urgent request' was a fabrication.

He shrugged and nodded, and Catherine bore him off to the bedroom, to be checked over. "If you're working, you have to be checked," she said severely.

Harry didn't object, just asked if she had any bruising lotion. When Jebedee knocked and entered, she was dabbing lotion on a particularly nasty bruise on his bottom.

"You could have waited to be asked to come in!" said Harry resentfully.

Jebedee was laughing, "How did you get that bruise?"

"A chair vanished under me - I now know how long my conjures last."

"And how long would that be?" asked Jebedee.

Harry did some arithmetic. "Seventy-two years." He didn't even blush. It seemed a bit late to pretend that he wasn't something a bit different.

Catherine did her readings. Harry didn't ask, but she told him severely that he'd lost more weight. Harry ignored her, only dressing swiftly, resolving to work on underpants and jeans. They never seemed to fit right, though his shirts did.

As they headed back to where Simon and his children waited, Harry asked what had happened to Caradoc Dearborn? It had been a few weeks ago that the remarkable man had been brought back from his very long sojourn as a pumpkin-head.

"He's still in hospital in Italy," said Jebedee. "We tried to get him back, to look after him here, but they won't believe he's an English auror."

Harry frowned. "What does he say?"

"Sarah went over to talk to him, but he's in a closed ward, and they wouldn't allow it."

Harry was looking blacker by the minute. "Surely they haven't made him a prisoner! He might have been a bit overwhelmed by it all, but he was perfectly rational. When I first went into his head, he'd just solved the problem of the Antimagus Varii!"

Catherine knew what he was talking about, but Jebedee, along with most of his friends, tended to forget this aspect of Harry - that he was a very highly regarded intellectual.

"I'll go over myself shortly," said Jebedee, "And maybe Barbara too. They'll take notice of us!"

"There's something else you might be interested in." Jebedee said. "A few weeks ago, Pieter Kohn and Wilhelm Schweitzer were found dead, not a mark on them. It's thought now that the Dementor may have approached them, and they didn't cooperate."

"Interesting," said Harry calmly, but Catherine gave Jebedee an annoyed look. He'd started trembling again.

Jebedee and Catherine got up to go now that they had what they wanted, but Harry was enjoying the company of the children, telling them about the horse and the sheep on his shirt. Daniel asked him whether he might conjure one for him, and Harry sent him up to the bedroom to get his wand. Penelope observed critically that her dad said that grown up witches and wizards should _always_ have their wands close, and Harry admitted he was a bit careless sometimes.

He took orders, and by the time Christine said that he was to stay for lunch, the children were both wearing gloriously bright shirts that made both Simon and Christine blanch.

He was restless again after lunch, not knowing what to do with himself, pacing the floor at Sirius Black's place, and fretting. He'd just decided he might like to climb a mountain when he laughed at himself. He tended to forget his handicaps, but he needed help when the ground sloped, or he just kept falling over. Mountain climbing was out. He decided to go to a tropical beach somewhere instead. He needed two tries, as it was night time the first place he arrived. He remembered to take time differences into account the second time, and found what he wanted.

He came back with a sunburn, but packed a small kitbag, put plenty of money in his wallet, and spent the night with Anita in Paris, after a romp with both Anita and another. He thought it strange that he was sleeping so well, whether it was in bed, or on the ground and freezing cold.

The Ministry was still keeping a watch on him, whenever he was in range, and Harry was still ignoring the location devices. It made him feel a little less alone.

Monday, he felt carefully for Caradoc Dearborn. He'd been in the wizard's mind when he'd restored him to man, so had no trouble. And then he apparated from France where he'd breakfasted, to Italy, finding himself in a small, bare hospital room. The door was shut, just with a high observation window. Caradoc was stretched on a bed, hands behind his head, and looking at the ceiling.

He turned his head with mild curiosity, and said, "There's an anti-apparation spell on this room."

Harry went to him. "I'm Harry Potter. Do you remember me?"

"Of course," said Caradoc, and sat up.

Harry regarded him. "Why are you here?"

"I'm afraid I became a little confused when I was outside, and now they won't let me out to try again."

"Did you hurt anyone?"

"No, of course not! But things have changed so much."

Harry conjured himself a chair, and sat next to him, opening his mind to the man. He couldn't take anyone dangerous back with him, but it only took a moment to know there was no madness here.

"I don't like it when I cure someone, and no-one believes they're cured," he observed.

Caradoc warned, "Someone's coming." Harry put Cloaking Magic on himself and his chair, and the male nurse peeped in the window, and walked on.

Harry spoke again as if nothing had happened. "They wanted to lock me away once - do you want to get out?"

"I think I'd like that," said Caradoc in his voice of calm.

Harry continued, "You can live at my place if you like, as long as you want. I won't be there, but they'll look after you if I ask."

"Why won't you be there?"

Harry had a sudden urge to tell this man about the Dementor, surely he had the insight to find an answer, or at least make it easier to bear. But the barely pushed down terror rose in him, and he could not. And anyway, he needed to take him home, and he himself could not stay there where he might bring his friends into danger. So instead, he asked Caradoc if he knew how to be a passenger while he apparated. Caradoc said that he did, but suggested he just get him out, and give the coordinates.

"This is Italy, my home is in England," Harry said, "As far as I know, no-one else can apparate that distance."

Caradoc looked at him with the same detached curiosity he'd shown before.

Harry rose, vanished his chair, and said, "Ready?"

An instant later, they appeared in the apparation zone of Harry's property. Harry looked around, and a lump rose in his throat. But he swallowed, and only waited until Melissa came cantering over.

He started to explain, but Tammy was jumping all over him, and he picked her up, and hugged her. This was too hard. He made a colossal effort, and spoke almost calmly. "Melissa, this is Caradoc Dearborn. He's a guest, but should have one of the outside cottages or rooms, whatever he wants. For a while, he might like someone to bring him food from the house, as he's not accustomed to company. He's to be looked after as well as possible."

Melissa slipped off her horse, and extended a hand to Harry. "Are you all right, Boss?"

Harry handed her Tammy. He couldn't speak, and silently disapparated.

Melissa was watching after him, and there were tears in her eyes, too. His staff had a very good idea of what he was facing. Caradoc waited patiently. He had an endless supply of patience.

At last, she switched her attention back to their guest, and Caradoc was looked after as well as they knew how. He was worried by other people, and preferred to be alone. After a few days, the space around no longer upset him, and he started walking, although never going off the estate. He liked it that the gate was always open, but the high fences made him feel secure. A ginger cat started visiting him in his little house.

Adrian was not allowed out of the house where he was hidden. He did not complain, and on Connor's advice, he'd been provided with a computer and computer games that he might like. He was a little happier then - like his father, he needed something to do. Margaret and Vicki had not hidden the situation from him. They did not, however, tell him that it was inevitable that his father would be used again, as he'd been before. Instead, they said that Harry was warned, and would have a chance to fight. But just in the meantime, Adrian was to be kept away for his own protection, and his mother was away somewhere too, both of them a long way from their father. There was to be no communication.

When Harry left his home behind, he visited that remote deep forest again. He was going to be used by a Dementor. The horror and the fear were too much for him sometimes. Mostly he tried to push it down below the surface of his mind, and pretend that things were normal, but the brief glimpse of his home had upset him.

And afterwards, what then? He was not allowed to die, because of the threat to Adrian. He would have to get better again, all over again, and as soon as he did, it would be back.

He practised again making that instant shield that might conceal him from detection while he called up his strong magic. But there was no real hope in him. The Dementor's magic was different, and probably its knowing of him was different, too. He did not believe it would work.

He was relieved that he'd be working from Tuesday. He thought he might go totally to pieces if he didn't have that.

**x**


	24. Chapter 24

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 24:_

The next two weeks of work followed the same pattern. Harry indulged in reckless fights, slipped the aurors routinely, and yet was glad when they found him anyway. When his distress became too great, he took himself off to a private place, made a silencing shield, and cried.

He tried not to think of Julie, or Adrian, or home - he was frightened that he would bring evil down on whoever he had connections with. He made no communications with his family, and wanted no communication from them. It probably made no sense, but Harry was barely keeping a hold on his sanity, and they did as he wished.

There were women every day, often more than one a day. The way he chose the women he went with, had changed. Throughout his life, except when he'd been contentedly married, there were always women, but almost invariably, he'd chosen experienced women, who'd be less likely to be hurt by a short-term lover. Muggles, never witches, as his fame had always affected the way he was regarded by the women who lived in his world. Now he was indiscriminate - the young girl who had invited him to her bedroom was not the only one for whom he was the first. Harry had always been able to put into his expression and his voice a feeling of overpowering sexual invitation. It was not magic. He always said that it was just that women saw that he liked sex, and were willing to share with him. Whatever it was, it was very difficult to resist.

Natalie was replaced by Simon after the first week, rather red-faced after finding herself in his bed, to the considerable disapproval of Franz, and the amusement of everyone else. There were no women aurors assigned to him after that. In the second week, Sweden, there was the host country Coordinator, and one of the mediwizard observers who came close to congratulate him on a difficult cure. That one's husband watched in astonished disbelief as she looked hypnotised at the great wizard, and left with him. Somehow, the fact that she was married had never entered the conversation.

Barbro never thought to work the anti-conception spell, she thought she was too old to have children. They were together an hour. To Barbro, it would be unforgettable though she cried afterward in her husband's arms, repentant. She didn't know what had come over her - he hadn't even seemed very well...

Meantime, he worked his casual and routine miracles, as the aurors and Catherine sought to keep him safe and as calm as possible. They bought him ice-creams sometimes. A saying was spreading, no-one knew where it started. If you need to be brave, have an ice-cream.

By the end of the second week, he was more thin than ever, but the LV reading was now 294, his normal. Jebedee calmly told him that it would be Holland the following week, and reminded him they didn't start until Tuesday, as Monday was a public holiday. Harry nodded.

That weekend was the big Easter horse-show. Beau and Simon competed, but they were helped only by Jimmy Carr. Chris and Chrissy were there, but even the muggles knew that there was something very wrong. That the boss and his family were facing a terrible threat.

Saturday night, Harry took himself to the Ministry Ball. To his regret, no-one hissed, or provided him with any other excuse for a fight. He knew there were aurors all around, two whom he knew stayed close, and more whom they thought he didn't know.

He prowled around restlessly, and had almost decided to abandon the idea, when two young witches, attractive and vivacious, took him by the arms. They were identical twins, with a communion between themselves that was almost as effective as Harry's telepathy. But Harry seldom used his telepathy, regarding it as a violation of privacy. Skye and Nicki used it between themselves, all the time.

The girls didn't want to leave straight away. Instead they were providing him with drinks - strong drinks. The aurors watched, but didn't interfere. If Harry wanted to get drunk, or if he wanted the girls, it was no-one else's business but that of the girls and of Harry's.

The great wizard was befuddled when they took him to the pre-booked room in a small wizard hotel. They worked together to distract him at crucial moments, the evening, in the middle of the night, and again in the morning.

Nicki was confident by morning, but Skye thought she needed another chance. And this time, Nicki slipped out for a while, saying that she had to organise something, while Skye devoted her attention to Harry. And this time, at the instant of his climax, there were screams outside and cries of _'Dementor!'_

Harry was already generating the strong magic as he pulled on his robes, not worrying about shoes, and paused, waiting until it was much stronger before opening the door. Skye was moaning and holding her head. She had never felt such a horrible feeling in her head. Harry strode out, building the magic up more and more as he exited the building. People reeled away from him as he looked around, the air seeming to crackle with his great power.

There was no Dementor, and gradually as he felt the minds around him, he knew there was no Dementor. Just a trick, or a joke. The magic died down.

He could have killed the Dementor then. For a few minutes there had been hope. And now again, he knew that he was to be just food for it, probably again and again until he died. He stared blindly at the morning sky, as wizards and witches in the street around him stared. Aurors started to come closer. He didn't notice them. His shoes, wallet and wand were left in the hotel room. And as two naughty, now giggling, girls worked their spells to ensure conception, Harry went again to his patch of forest.

This was the worst, he thought. To have had hope, and then to lose it. It would be soon, he knew. Catherine had not been telling him her results, and he'd not been asking, but he knew. Sometime, any time, in the next few days, the Privileged One would come for him. He didn't know how to bear it, but he had to. He had to not die, because if he did, it would attack Adrian.

Despair tore his heart, and he screamed out his anguish, again and again to the uncaring sky, a silencing shield around him, though no-one was near.

The Dementor was not close enough to be seen or felt. Its attention had been called by the strong magic, and now it knew the emotion of the special one. It felt no compassion. Compassion is not something that Dementors feel. The special one had been to this place before, several times, and always his emotion would swell, more intense than that of any other human, and then it would gradually die down again. Often, afterward, the special one slept. This remote place would not be suitable for its feed. No other humans were close to give the special one the care he would need to stop him from dying afterward.

The Dementor waited until the unique spirit slept before going close. It could feel his spirit, but there was something else the Privileged One became aware of. The physical body was losing strength, even as the spirit appeared ready to use. The Dementor didn't understand why this should be so, and decided to keep a close watch on its morkon for a few days. If his physical body was weak, it might compromise his chances of survival afterward_. _

It was late morning when Harry woke, very hungry. It was raining, but Harry didn't notice. He just went to a town, and bought himself some food. He still wore his dress robes, though he did think to dry them with magic before he entered a shop. He was barefoot. He didn't notice the surprised looks of the muggles around.

He didn't want to go home. Instead, he transformed himself to a hawk, and used his wings to take himself to a high peak, and survey his surroundings from there, looking down on the low cloud. He did not fly well, always with that tendency to veer strongly to the left. And when, on the way down for another meal, the resident hawk attacked him, he just flattened his wings to his sides, and dived away, fleeing. He was not allowed to weaken himself, or Adrian might be taken instead.

That night, he took himself back to that private place in the deep forest. It was becoming familiar, almost friendly. It was the place where he allowed himself to give vent to his agony. Where there were other people, he would not cry, would not scream, though he could not seem to stop his shaking. Here, there was just himself.

The aurors were worried. They knew there'd been screams and cries of Dementor that had brought Harry out on Sunday morning, an aura of power surrounding him that made people cower away. But they didn't know where he'd gone. The location devices never worked in the hidden places, neither his home, nor the other that they knew existed. But Jebedee thought that he could not have just gone home after such an intolerable disappointment. His shoes had been left behind, and there were no location devices on the dress robes he'd worn to the Ministry ball, but there was a device on his glasses. The location devices had a range of a few hundred miles, apparation range for a normal wizard, but they had to look further.

They found him in the end, Sunday night, curled up at the foot of a tree, asleep outside in the freezing cold and the wet. They bullied him awake, though at first, he only curled up tighter, and told them to go away, he was asleep. But Simon and the others had their way, and he spent the rest of the night, and most of the morning in a warm hotel room in a nearby town. Simon watched over him as he slept. Another stayed outside his door, and the third reported to Jebedee.

**x**

The owner of a certain souvenir shop in Hogsmeade was very pleased when he was able to buy a real wand that had been used by Harry Potter. There were some shoes and a couple of other small items, too, but they only looked ordinary, and he vanished them. The wallet would be very valuable, but was probably too risky to put on display until Harry was dead.

The shop was not being as successful as he'd hoped when he started it five years before. Draco Malfoy thought that if he could convert the public perception of Harry back to the great wizard, or even to 'Our Harry,' rather than having him widely regarded as a monster, his business might make more money. And besides, he had a great respect for Harry Potter, and didn't want him driven out of the country. He started making plans. The Malfoys had always been good at making plans.

_ **x**_

At Harry's place, Caradoc Dearborn joined the workers in the staff dining room for the first time. Tracy was pleased to see the mystery man, who tended to retreat when people came close. But he was getting better.

Spring was in the air, three mares were heavy in foal in a grassy paddock, and one day, a little skewbald mare opened the gate of her paddock, and accompanied by a three year old chestnut filly, went in search of a stallion. When Mischief and Kintyre reappeared several days later, they were both in foal. Enquiries were made, but only the mares knew that the stallion they'd fancied had been an elderly Percheron many miles away, put out to pasture as he was supposed to be past work.

In America, Julie studied some newspapers sent from England. There were some letters, too, some of them very spiteful as they told his wife how Harry was misbehaving. Fifteen years ago, Julie would probably have enjoyed writing the same sort of pretend concerned letters. But Harry had given her some wonderful times, as well as some traumatic times. And she would never forget the sight of him in the Dementor's embrace.

He might be fighting and womanising, but her husband was very strong, and it proved that he was alive. Anyone else, she thought, would have totally broken down. It was not only the Dementor that thought that Harry had a special spirit.

Julie tried to be as brave as her husband, but her tension was shown in irritability and impatience. She didn't get into fights or indulge in casual sex, but she spent a great deal of money on quite unnecessary purchases. She was eating a lot of chocolate, too.

**x**

Tuesday morning, Harry arrived at the Ministry for the trip to Holland. Catherine took him to her office, and checked him over more thoroughly than usual, even having him strip to the waist, which she rarely did.

He didn't object, just stared into the distance and did as she said. He had become very thin, ribs standing out clearly, though she knew that he was always hungry. His face had become more hollow-cheeked, and his eyes seemed to glitter. Instead of fits of trembling, he was now shaken, more often than not, by a gentle continuous quiver. The strain was telling. On the other hand, energy levels were perfectly good, and the LV was still at his normal of 294.

Catherine consulted with Jebedee before giving the go-ahead. Together they decided that no useful purpose would be served by cancelling the trip. He was better with something to do while he waited, and Jebedee had given him experienced aurors, every one of them. The young ones, especially Patrick, had been looking almost as nervy as Harry, as they waited for it to be time. And besides, Harry Potter was irreplaceable, and his work was needed, especially now that Cissy wasn't doing it.

They went to Holland, Harry always surrounded by the aurors. It helped, and he slipped them less often than in the previous two weeks. They often walked very close, in contact, even, and he took comfort from the strong, friendly bodies next to him. He did tell them, once, though, that they should not risk getting hurt when the Dementor came - there was nothing they could do.

He was not told that Beth and Jeremiah were now living at his home, that Will had been re-established in the bedroom upstairs, that the nurses had been put on notice. Catherine would be his healer. Hermione, now looking very thin and strained, would take a less active role. Ben would help, too, if needed. Everything they could do, had been done. It was just a matter of waiting...

Harry hadn't asked about any of those sort of arrangements. He didn't want to think about any of those sort of arrangements.

Monday night, as Harry slept, the Dementor came close. Also Tuesday night and Wednesday night. It was beginning to come to some understanding that the special one's health was being harmed by the waiting. Harry never felt its presence. He continued to sleep every night, deeply, dreamlessly, as if his body knew that it needed the relief.

The Privileged One made its preparations. It had come to the conclusion that the special one would not improve in physical health now. No doubt after the next time, and the next, he would accept it better. It was just to be a taking, every year or so, and each time, in between, the morkon would be allowed to replenish itself. The Dementor knew the regular movements of the group of humans who surrounded the special one. It did not know that this was to be a shorter week's work than usual. Thursday, it had chosen a suitable place, but the humans didn't come.

The Dementor felt for the special one. He could not hide. Thursday afternoon, Harry worked in Diagon Alley, cleaning up some English cases that Cissy had not been able to do, and doing the overseas cases.

A rumour had been spreading, that the great wizard's health was again uncertain, as it had been at various times in the past. It might not be a good idea to wait for the wizard to come, as he might not come. There were far more foreign patients than usual.

Harry was as surrounded by aurors here as he was on the overseas trips. And when he said that he was going to walk in Diagon Alley for a while, that he had an errand at Ollivanders, and that he wanted an ice-cream, they just took up formation around him, Simon close on his left, Grant on his right, Franz and Anthony close.

Ben watched his friend go. He knew that very soon, he'd have him as a patient again. He already looked quite ill, though he'd had not the slightest trouble with his patients, working the telepathic cure three times, and the strong magic once. Ben felt sick when he thought about what was to happen all over again, and left very quickly that day. If there was only something anyone could do!

"Why do you want to go to Ollivanders?" asked Simon.

"Lost the wand I was using," said Harry casually.

"What've you been using then?" asked Simon, as he'd just seen Harry cure thirty or so patients waving something that looked like a wand.

"Bit of wood," said Harry, "People get upset if I don't appear to use a wand, so I conjured myself something."

Grant, on his other side, just shook his head. For so many years, Harry had always taken care to use a wand when people watched. Now, it appeared, he'd given up on the pretence.

There was no audible hissing as they walked the narrow alley toward Ollivanders, but people drew back frightened, retreating. It was only the previous Saturday night that the monster had appeared in dress robes, but barefoot, and reeking of a power that hurt heads, in front of quite a lot of witnesses, only because some foolish people had shrieked 'Dementor.' They thought he was not only powerful, he was beginning to look half mad, his face so thin, and he always looked to be shaking. And all those aurors. Were they trying to keep him under control?

Harry ignored the way people backed off. He should have a wand. Whatever he needed to do because of Adrian, whatever the Dementor planned, he could easily die this time, and he didn't want to be buried with a useless piece of wood in his hand.

No-one except the aurors were close when he flinched. As before, he would not be able to disapparate. And then it was there, and as he'd known, there was no time to raise his strong magic. The aurors were drawing their wands in a useless gesture.

For the first time in his life, Harry heard its communication, a cold, almost metallic voice that rang through his consciousness, _It's time! _

Harry threw all his hatred, all his terror of the thing into his magic. The blast seemed to centre in the chest of the Dementor, and blew it apart, pieces landing up to thirty feet away. The aurors were knocked out, people were thrown to the ground, and windows shattered. It had been quiet, just a muffled thud, and the crashes of breaking glass. Afterward, there was no-one in sight left standing.

Harry shook his head, and pulled himself to the wall of a shop, sitting against it. He'd thrown everything he had into that blast, and anxiously he felt for the minds of Simon, of Anthony, Franz and Grant, his friends who had tried to protect him, and whom he'd now hurt. They were all right, though. Franz, who'd been behind them, was already beginning to stir.

Harry looked around at the revolting bits of Dementor scattered everywhere. It looked like it was dead, all right, and he leaned his head back against Ollivanders, and closed his eyes. There was a smile on his face.

It was a while before anyone came. They'd known this would happen. The monster had run mad, and would blow up anyone who came near. Only Harry and the aurors had seen the Dementor.

Madam Ollivander took a cautious peep out her door. But there was a quite large black lump across the doorway, and she retreated, wrinkling her nose. There was no blood, and yet she thought it was a sort of flesh. Others stayed well back. People in shops close, were cowering in back rooms, except for Madam Ollivander, who'd looked around in annoyance at wands and wand boxes scattered everywhere from the blast of magic, and was already methodically restoring her shop to order.

Jebedee came himself, and kept the aurors back. No-one knew more than Jebedee the terrible strain that Harry had been under. And now, according to reports, he'd gone mad, and blown up hundreds of people. The aurors surrounded the area, but cautiously, on his orders, stayed well back. If the great wizard was bent on destruction, what havoc could he wreak? Jebedee suspected he could flatten whole cities if he chose, and no-one could stop him.

It was not for half an hour, that Jebedee came to Harry, still sitting, just leaning against the wall, now with Franz beside him, all of them feeling thoroughly knocked about. Simon was beginning to stir, and Grant was awake, and sitting close to Anthony who'd been closest to the blast, and still hadn't moved. Ranked behind Jebedee, wands drawn, were several aurors.

Harry turned his eyes to Jebedee, and smiled. "It's dead!" he said.

"What's dead?" asked Jebedee in bewilderment.

"The Dementor."

Jebedee looked around. There was no body, and he looked back at Harry suspiciously.

Harry looked at a black lump beside him, and then pointed to another on the other side of Jebedee. "I think I killed it!" and he started laughing, a touch of hysteria in his voice.

For the first time, Jebedee took notice of the scraps of black around, mostly quite small. "Is this true, Franz?"

Franz said, "Well, the Dementor was suddenly there in front of us, and when I came around, there was only Harry, and scraps of black - I think it might be true!"

Jebedee had been looking grim faced, as more and more reports came in of the great wizard going berserk. But now he smiled at his friend, delightedly, going to him, pulling him up, and hugging him, before realising that Harry could not stand, and carefully lowering him to the ground again.

"Sorry," said Harry, "Just a bit tired."

"We'll cancel Norway next week, then?"

"Did you ever think I'd make it?"

Anthony caused a diversion then, by suddenly bounding to his feet, wand drawn, before staggering, looking around, confused. All the aurors were up, now, and Harry's remaining anxiety for his friends diminished.

They were taken back to the Ministry, and Catherine checked them all over. The aurors were suffering something like concussion, and two of them urgently needed a wash and a change of clothes. Harry and Simon had escaped being hit by bits of Dementor, and were not too bad.

Harry couldn't walk, and seemed to be barely able to stay awake. Very happy, though. Some food helped. He hadn't been hurt, he was just so terribly, terribly tired. They put him on a narrow bed in Catherine's office. He slept. Patrick stayed with him, and Fred guarded outside the door. Even within the Ministry, Harry Potter had enemies.

Catherine checked him again a few hours later. He scarcely stirred, but was smiling in his sleep. Already the LV was improving, and Catherine wondered curiously what it had been straight afterward. They'd never know, but now it was 34 and rising. Energy levels were extremely low.

They woke him without too much difficulty, and Alex and Patrick helped him to the transport bay, where the ambulance waited to take him home. It was a long trip by ambulance, even by wizard ambulance, but they took him smoothly, and he was home not long after dark. He slept all the way.

Catherine checked him before they unloaded him, and again the LV levels had risen, but the energy levels were still very low. He seemed to be able to walk again now, though, only needing a hand from Will, who was out to meet them.

There were cheers as he arrived. Everyone knew what had happened. Harry had won, and Adrian was already home, waiting to greet him. Julie would be returning the following day.

**x**


	25. Chapter 25

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 25:_

The nurses were not needed, Will was appreciated for a few days, and Catherine only stayed one night. Harry always recovered a lot quicker from exhaustion caused by using his magic, than he did from the terrible draining of a Dementor feed. But for days, he seemed to want only to sleep, preferably with Julie by his side. For three weeks and three days, he had lived under tremendous strain. Now it was over, but he took a while to recover. It wasn't only the effort of magic that he'd used to destroy the Dementor that left him so tired.

Julie gave the orders this time, who was allowed to visit, and for how long. Beth was pleased to see her taking charge, protecting her husband instead of undermining him, as she'd done more than once in the past. Beth was very happy not to have been needed, and she and Jeremiah returned to their own sunny home.

Hermione had been drained by the stress almost as much as Harry. Now Hermione, too, began to regain weight and spirits, checking Harry daily, and abusing him soundly if she thought he was doing too much. Harry was meek and grateful, and quite often took notice of what she said.

Connor was thrilled to have Adrian back at school, and when the teacher sternly rebuked Adrian for being away yet again, suggested they needed an ice-cream each.

There had been presents waiting for Adrian when he arrived home, including posters from his big auror friend, Louis. Adrian had looked at them in wonderment. There were three, bought at a souvenir shop in Hogsmeade. One showed his father, standing head up, cape swirling, and surrounded all around and above by the circling dark figures of Dementors. Another showed him facing the camera, wand raised, scar blazing, and looking about to kill. It must have been an old photograph, as his hair was pitch black, without the white in it that Adrian had always known. Another was even older, of a slight, black haired youth, apparently casually leaning against a wall, but with eyes that flicked around warily, as if expecting to be attacked at any moment.

They were very precious to Adrian, but Julie knew Harry, and forbade him to put them on display. Harry would hate it. Cissy came to Adrian's rescue, and made him a secret room in the house, using magic like Harry had used to make a secret bedroom. There, Adrian hung his pictures, and there, he kept his very own growing collection of special books.

Among them was a book written by his big sister Beth, and another by his father's second wife, Luna. Adrian had found his way into the secret portion of the library. There had been a book by his father there, too, just one copy, but it only showed blank pages to his curious eyes, so he put it back.

One day, he yielded to temptation, and showed his secret room to his best friend. Connor looked amazed at the moving pictures on the wall, and now knew that Harry was not just a wizard, he was the great wizard. He kept quiet, not even telling his parents. Neither Ian nor Connor wanted to lose their friendships with the Potter family.

Four days after the Dementor was killed, Harry joined some of his workers in the staff dining room for lunch, Tammy at his heels. He still looked very thin, but wore a look of contentment again. Caradoc Dearborn was there, but stayed back, watching, as Harry's friends made a fuss of him.

Harry smiled at him, and Caradoc nodded back, but he didn't like noisy crowds, and slipped away as soon as he finished his meal. Harry was still getting tired easily, and didn't stay long. It was just to say hello to everyone, and he was very interested in talking to Caradoc.

It was only a day or two later that he called Bluebird into service, the grey and white full brother of Clown. Riding was easier than walking, but he was not up to Mischief yet, and Kelly was a bit tall. It wasn't to be long, and on Saturday, he was on Kelly, casually bareback as always, to visit Ian Maguire. Ian was very pleased to see him, not knowing what the danger had been, but it was obviously over.

Caradoc walked alone still, retreating if anyone approached him, so they left him alone. He'd made one friend whom he seemed to enjoy being around. Often he was with feeble-minded Will, sharing the repetitive manual work that suited Will.

Harry had promised Caradoc that he'd get him a wand as soon as he could, and also that he'd tackle Jebedee about some pay or a pension. Meantime, he presented him with a writing machine. The Ministry did not yet know that Caradoc was with Harry. Harry had forgotten to mention it, and all the Italians knew was that he'd disappeared from inside a locked, closed ward.

The following Saturday, Harry was with Simon and Beau, at another big horse show. As well as the jumping, they had a couple of Cissy's mares to show. To his regret, Harry hadn't been able to go with Cissy and Bridon to buy the stallion. It was not to Cissy's regret - she thought that in Harry's state of renewed enthusiasm, she might wind up with far more horses than she could cope with.

Harry felt almost well again, and looked better than he had in weeks, but he still tired easily, and spent time dozing in the sunshine while Melissa and Jason worked. Ian was reminded forcibly of their first meeting. But Harry had only referred vaguely to kidnap threats when asked why Adrian had been hidden away, and Ian didn't enquire further.

He wasn't to learn more until he was at Harry's place a few days later, and he went off to ask Tracy if she'd mind getting them some afternoon tea. Ian picked up a newspaper left on the coffee table, and gaped as he saw a moving picture of Harry Potter, taken a while back, as he still had long hair. The story was to do with the necessity of driving the monster out of England. It was obvious now that he was insane.

Harry came back bearing a tray, concentrating, as he had to do without his cane. He saw immediately that he'd been thoroughly sprung, but only asked if his guest would like his coffee poured. Tracy followed him out not long after, with another tray of fresh scones, and his cane tucked under an arm. She looked at the Daily prophet lying on the table with some alarm, but Harry only shrugged, and thanked her.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Ian asked Harry.

Harry said "Umm..." then shook his head. "Too difficult to explain."

But as he spread jam and cream on a scone, he did explain further. "I can do things that no other wizard can do, and people don't always like it. Sometimes, I'm 'the great wizard,' as you heard Julie refer to me one time, but mostly nowadays, I'm the monster."

"Difficult," observed the vet.

"Julie hates it," said Harry. "If it was just me, I might try and brazen it out, but as it is, I think I might accept a teaching position in America for a year. They like me there."

Ian asked, "Then what?"

"Well, Adrian is supposed to be going to school here when he's eleven, but it depends how bad the feeling is about me at that time. It would be sad if he couldn't go, I loved Hogwarts when I was a kid, but it may not be possible. We'll have to see."

The monster making an explosion in Diagon Alley had convinced a lot more of wizardry that Harry Potter was to be feared, and preferably expelled from decent company. Stories of those whom he'd killed were spreading far and wide, and the carefully considered Ministry statement was widely labelled a cover-up.

When Jebedee visited a few days later, Harry was talking to Mischief.

Harry grinned at him. "Look at her," he said. "Just like her dad! She wanted a stallion, so she let herself out of the paddock, and found herself one - and I have _no _idea what sort of stallion it might be."

"Barbara wants to talk to you," Jebedee said, not adding that Jebedee had strict instructions from Catherine to take him to her, too.

"Sure," said Harry. "Now?"

"You're fit enough to apparate?"

"Oh, yes, Hermione said I could apparate over a week ago." But he regarded his muddy boots, "Maybe I'll just change first."

They walked toward the house. Harry suddenly turned to Jebedee, and he was reddening. "Just wanted to say thank you. I think I might have gone mad if it wasn't for you and the others looking after me."

Jebedee gripped him by the shoulder. "No-one more happy than I..." and the big tough black man stopped, turned away, and continued rather too quickly, walking toward the house. His moment of emotion passed, though, and he thought with an internal grin that Harry had indeed gone a little bit mad. How many fights had there been? And how many girls!

Not long later, Jebedee waited in the atrium of the Ministry for Harry to appear. He was puzzled, what was the delay? He checked in Barbara's office in case he'd avoided the atrium. Had something happened? They'd been together. Jebedee thought that they'd disapparated together.

He waited a few more minutes, and then returned to Harry's place. A hundred yards away, Harry was off by himself, generating some very intense strong magic. Fifteen sheep huddled against a fence, as far away from him as they could get. Jebedee himself, flinched, even at that distance. A young man whom Jebedee didn't know watched them both with curiosity.

Harry allowed his magic to die down, and walked across to Jebedee. Jebedee glanced at where he'd been, and asked, "Why?"

Harry was looking embarrassed. "Ummm..."

Jebedee just stared at him, and suddenly Harry was laughing, though it was going to be an awful problem if he couldn't fix it... And he said to Jebedee, "I'm the great spell-breaker, right? Haven't had a failure since I don't know when."

Jebedee nodded. Harry was shaking his head. "There's a spell on me, and I can't overcome it."

"What spell?" asked Jebedee, concerned.

"The Dementor put an anti-disapparation spell on me. It was the first warning of its presence. I forgot about it."

"Embarrassing," said Jebedee. "Are you going to be able to overcome it?"

Harry scratched his head, serious now. "I don't know. It's different magic. I might have to work on it a while." He flashed a look at Jebedee, "You reckon you can keep it quiet? It's rather embarrassing!"

Jebedee hesitated. "You can't apparate because there's a spell on you!"

Harry nodded. "I should have been able to feel it, but it's different magic. I didn't realise until I tried to come with you."

Jebedee said, "Barbara knew I was looking for you... Do you mind if I bring her here?"

Harry hesitated. The secrecy of his hidden home was important to him, but he rebuked himself. Barbara had never wavered in her support. "Yes, of course, I'd like to see her. I'll see if Tracy and Klaus can made us a morning tea as good as she always provides."

Ten minutes later, Harry had conjured some fresh furniture, to be outside in the gentle April sunshine, even making a chair modified to suit Barbara's short stature, and had alerted Tracy that the Minister for Magic was expected, and a morning tea needed.

Tracy, who was pregnant, started instructing her new assistant in what was needed. Sybil Shunpike was clumsy, but well meaning, and very eager to please. She thought it absolutely amazing that she'd been hired to help serve the great wizard, but was apt to go bright red and drop things whenever he was near.

Julie was with Harry now, smiling with pleasure at the prospect of a visit from Barbara who had become a friend. And it was Julie who pointed out that the short, round woman was not much of a walker, and the apparation zone was 600 yards from the house.

When Barbara appeared five minutes later, a small two seater open carriage waited, with a pretty little grey and white pony harnessed to it. Harry was smiling at her, and Julie waited on the seat.

Jebedee was impressed. That hadn't taken long!

Barbara gave Harry a tight hug and a kiss. She'd seen the Dementor, knew what had been in store for him, the same as he'd endured twice before, and had scarcely survived. The second time, she knew, he hadn't wanted to survive.

Harry hugged her tightly back. He was really remarkably fond of Barbara.

Barbara had never been to Harry's place before. Not many had. It was hidden. Barbara looked around in pleasure at the gardens and fields. The place bore an air of smiling content. And Harry, on a pony beside the little cart, was also looking smilingly contented, very different from when she'd seen him last.

There had been three foals that year and Barbara smiled in pleasure as she caught sight of them romping together. The foals were of the line of Sheba, and were sired by a big and powerful stallion with a reputation for producing show jumpers. Beau and Simon had suggested the stallion, and were taking a great interest in the foals, two bay colts, and a black filly.

Harry courteously handed down his friend from the little vehicle, and they talked generally a while. He was not needed for the overseas trips, as Cissy was feeling better now, in mid pregnancy. She'd already started, doing Norway instead of Harry. Crowds of people expecting to see the great wizard had been disappointed, and several hopeful girls gave up and went home.

Harry wouldn't give an answer about future plans. Attacks on him by the Daily Prophet had become increasingly vitriolic. And when Jebedee said that it would be a good thing if the full story of the Dementor were known, including that he could no longer apparate because of a spell, because it might soften the public perception of him a little, he gave it some serious thought. But then he remembered the December before last, and the Dementor coming to him for a feed, and he blanched and refused - he never wanted people knowing about that.

Restlessly, he got up, and paced for a moment, and then conceded that they could make it known that he could no longer apparate if they chose, and then added that _temporarily,_ he could no longer apparate. It might make him less feared, at least.

Julie was enjoying talking to Barbara now that business appeared to be over, and Harry asked Jebedee to come with him. He wanted him to meet someone. He extended his mind a touch, and knew that Will and Caradoc were working in the walled garden.

Harry introduced Jebedee to Caradoc, and Jebedee said to Caradoc. "I should have known that Harry had something to do with your disappearance. The Italians were baffled."

Harry shrugged. "They shouldn't have locked him up. Sometimes I think that_ no-one_ should be locked up, no matter what!"

Caradoc was already looking uneasy, and Harry said that they'd leave him alone, but that the Minister for Magic was here, with Julie, if he wanted to meet either of them.

Caradoc gave a remote smile, and said maybe some other time. He had a look from a distance, though. It was just that he'd been so long alone.

Harry was unexpectedly frank with Jebedee as they returned to the others. "He was on duty when he was hurt. What about his pay? He needs his own money."

Jebedee blinked. Ninety years backpay? "I'll organise something."

"He needs a wand, too, but I might send Jason to get him one, and me, too, since it seems I can't so easily travel," and he added again, as he had before, "Just temporarily, of course. No doubt I'll work something out."

Harry worked on the problem. He could make very strong magic, but the alien magic was different, and it was like he could not aim right. There was no good trying to fix himself with that touchpoint that was in a person's mind that he used in his telepathic cures. That was a place, a deep awareness that knew what a person was meant to be, and could restore him to that, casting off donkey ears, or pig snouts, or skin conditions. But this was not a spell like that.

A month later, he was beginning to be really annoyed. Muggle transport was so slow! But it was beginning to look like the great wizard would have to use muggle transport. No-one else could apparate with him, either. He had Jebedee try it, but they both stayed firmly where they were.

Word spread. Harry White was triumphant. He could do what he wanted now, and be the powerful wizard that he was always meant to be. He started travelling. He found no Dementors, but started building up a power base among certain powerful dark wizards in some cold Northern countries. And he started talking to Goblins.

Rebecca White was very relieved. Her husband was often away for long periods. She knew not to try and flee, and he always came back, but life was a lot easier for the innocent girl who had married a monster. She remembered how he'd looked to her before they'd married. Big and powerfully built, blonde, handsome, smiling. She never thought of their wedding night, or their honeymoon when she'd discovered just how helpless she was. Rebecca White had some very deep and painful scarring of the soul.

Harry Potter thought about checking on White. He hadn't done that in a long time. But he shrank from contact with that mind, and he hated the idea of having to go up against his own son. He was glad that he hadn't killed him. Surely it must be a great crime to kill one's own son! Now he could not apparate in order just to go and have a look.

But there was no word of any problems, and the Dementors still had not made any sort of a reappearance. Maybe Harry wasn't responsible for everything. He decided to forget about that accidental Australian son whom he really did not like.

**x**


	26. Chapter 26

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 26:_

By the middle of May, a pair of naughty identical twins were very much regretting their bit of mischief. All day, every day, they felt awful, and the healers couldn't seem to help in the slightest. They had what they wanted. They were both pregnant to the great wizard. They tried to pretend it had nothing to do with Harry Potter, but there'd been people watching as Harry left the annual Ministry ball, a twin on either side. The feeling against him had worsened dramatically since then. He was now so reviled!

At home, Mischief might have been suffering from morning sickness, too, or something akin. She didn't want to be ridden, and no longer wanted to play buckjumper with Harry. Harry refrained from teaching another horse to buck and play with him, as it made it so difficult for other riders. Instead, he just used Kelly, or occasionally one of the young horses. There were still a couple that Beau and Simon hadn't taken over.

Cissy was beginning to feel the weight of her pregnancy, but said she could work probably a few weeks longer. She was getting a bit tired, now.

Harry was fully well, felt very good, but was reluctant to leave Julie, now that he could not return so easily. And he wasn't willing to deprive himself of sex for four whole nights! But he did want to visit the aurors. They'd been so good to him when he was half crazy with fear. Even when alone, he would redden when he thought about his behaviour, especially when the Dementor had first appeared. Manfred had called him a frightened old man, and Harry was ashamed of his own cowardice. He hadn't even tried to fight, just frozen in fear. He'd been humiliated before, more than once, and he knew there wasn't anything to do except to face people regardless.

He was finding it an intolerable nuisance not to be able to apparate. He'd always done it so casually and routinely, although many wizards and witches thought it too dangerous, and never bothered with it. And most had to give it up as they grew older. Hermione hadn't apparated for years. But Harry's place had never been connected to the floo network, the Ministry kept ridiculously tight restrictions on Portkeys, and a broomstick was impractical, even if Harry could have persuaded one to fly straight for him. In the end, he had Chrissy drive him to a train station in town thirty miles away, and took a train. He had expressed interest in again trying to learn to drive safely, but had been firmly dissuaded. He was an incredibly bad driver.

He looked ordinary. He had short hair again, whatever Julie said. The little village was only a couple of miles from home, and he rode his horse there regularly. He wore jeans, as colourful a shirt as his wife would allow, and his new wand was tucked into an internal pocket of a denim jacket. After the first hour on the train, he tried to pace the corridor in his restlessness. It was taking so long!

But the train jerked and swayed, and he stumbled and staggered, and was helped back to his seat by the conductor. He decided whatever Jason said, he was going to learn to make Portkeys, and use them whenever he wanted. And he wasn't going to fill in a form and wait a month until approval was given, either!

After a while, he closed his eyes, and tried to meditate as had been his morning habit for so many years. He didn't think he'd done it since the Dementor had come for him in America, getting towards three months back.

Instead, he started to doze, not noticing when the train stopped, and more people entered the carriage. He was dreaming. He was a hawk, and diving toward the face. He wanted to rip and tear in his hatred. But then he was helpless on the ground, and the Dementor was coming. The first nightmare he'd had for months ripped through him, and left him crying out, shaken out of his seat, frantic and trembling in a train carriage, with strangers staring at him.

Two got up and left, others pretended not to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, and a motherly woman said kindly that she had nightmares too, sometimes, that he should not be embarrassed. Harry thanked her, and resolved that he absolutely _had_ to overcome that blasted Dementor spell. How could people _endure_ travelling on trains? And even then, he wasn't at his destination. He had to take the underground train to get close to the Ministry, and then he had to enter by muggle entrance. He was beginning to regret even starting out.

When the undistinguished man in muggle clothing entered the Ministry building, he was asked to present his wand for inspection. Harry handed over his wand, the receptionist put it on his scales, and said, "Never used."

He raised his eyes to Harry sceptically, "Are you _really_ a wizard?"

Harry grinned. This had happened before, and Anthony, then very young, had tried to modify his memory, deeming him to be a muggle. This time he just said casually that his name was Harry Potter. The receptionist suddenly recognised the famous face, and looked as if he was about to faint with fear. Harry's amusement died. He had to remind the man to return his wand, and said that he was just going to visit the aurors. The man gulped, and said nothing.

Harry hated being feared, and now word had spread, and more people were backing off. Harry began to look bad tempered, and that didn't help matters either. And in that moment, he made up his mind. He'd dithered long enough. From the new school year, they would take up residence in America. Julie would be able to socialise again, as she loved to do, and Harry would teach where he was wanted, Zefron School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, California. Adrian would just have to do without his friend Connor, though it was a shame.

Harry had seen Jebedee only a few days before. His old friend was a frequent visitor. So this time, he bypassed Jebedee's office, and took himself straight to the aurors' department.

The aurors were idle, and most of them seemed to be having a fight with paper aeroplanes, the zooming little aeroplanes taking all their attention. Harry made a tiny red dragon that chased in and around the aeroplanes. The aurors gaped for a moment, before turning to him. He was surrounded then, his friends making a fuss of him.

The aurors didn't fear him. They knew he was human, with as many weaknesses as anyone else. Harry might have been ashamed of his transparent terror of the Dementor, and his half mad behaviour following, but Simon and Grant and Patrick and all the others could not have been as fond of him if he'd been able to maintain an inhuman calm. Several who didn't know him watched avidly from a distance. There were far more trainees than usual. Eight from an intake of ten were due to qualify in a couple of months. Manfred Cahill looked at him sourly, and went back to his work. He was the only one working.

Word spread. Jebedee and Barbara gave him an hour before they came looking for him, and found him sitting casually on a desk, listening as Paul spoke about his wedding plans.

"I thought it was Kirsty was your girlfriend!" said Harry in surprise, when Paul spoke about Mandy.

"That was years ago," said Paul.

Patrick chimed in, "There's been Lizzy, Josephine, Caroline, Tracey and Stacey since then!"

Harry laughed and turned to Patrick, "And what about you? Is it still Susan?"

Patrick blushed, "No, it's Yvonne now, works in the canteen."

"You didn't stay faithful long," observed Harry.

Natalie spoke up, though grinning, "Two months is better than two hours!" and poor Harry turned scarlet. She gave him a kiss then, "You were jolly good, though."

Barbara spoke in a disapproving voice, though her eyes were twinkling, "Business to discuss, Harry."

Harry rose instantly, relieved to escape.

They wanted him to resume spell-breaking, as Cissy had given notice that she would not be working much longer. Harry declined, not giving his reasons.

Barbara was looking at him narrowly, and suddenly offered, "Julie can come with you whenever you want."

Harry reddened again, other people could do without their wives for four nights. The married aurors who went with him did it routinely. But he said in a calm voice, "We've still got a young boy at home, remember, and at the beginning of the school year I'm taking a job teaching in America."

"I'm surprised you're letting them win!" said Jebedee.

"It's not just name calling any more," said Harry. "Just seeing me has people terrified now. Julie and I haven't been able to go out normally for years." He had an idea, "I'll tell you what though, I'll do three months' spell-breaking, working every second week, if I can have someone show me how to make Portkeys, and have permission to use them whenever I want, without having to beg."

Barbara smiled, "Done!"

The Ministry of Magic had always loved the prestige of having the most powerful wizard in the world working for them. Cissy was good, too, but she didn't have the fame of Harry Potter. Barbara thought it was an excellent deal. No-one could stop Harry doing exactly what he wanted, but she was very pleased that he thought he should ask. Portkeys had little more range than apparation did for a normal wizard, but at least, Harry thought, they could take him to the Ministry from home.

Portkeys didn't work for Harry. Like all magic, he mastered it quickly and easily. His Portkeys were good - anyone else could use them, but whenever he tried to use one himself, the destination was erratic. Like apparating to coordinates, he always arrived well to the left of his destination, and unpredictably to the left. His problem with his balance manifested itself sometimes in unexpected ways.

He'd promised to do the trips, though, and Julie was approving. She was getting very bored, hardly able to go out, or only in muggle society. Adrian wasn't disturbed by the prospect of being left every second week, especially when two of Harry's numerous grandchildren were organised to stay.

The routine started again, a different country every second week, and Harry tolerated the important functions that were arranged, pleased to see Julie's pleasure. Their destinations and accommodation were kept as quiet as possible, and usually there was a pretence that it was Madam Diefenberger that was expected, although Harry was not nearly as feared in Europe. The explosion in Diagon Alley didn't seem so frightening to people who did not frequent the little London alley.

The team that went with him had changed. Franz was on different duties now, and Simon was team leader. Married couple Louis and Tracy were assigned, as well as Fred and Patrick, Alex and Leonard.

There was an airport seventy miles from his home, and each time, Harry and Julie met the aeroplane there on the Monday, and were returned there at the end of the week. Julie was a perfectly good driver, and the carefully inconspicuous car was left at the airport for the days they were away. They could have used an airport closer, but Harry didn't want to advertise too much where his home was, and there were Charms on the car so that it could not be followed, or meddled with.

**x**

Every alternate week, Harry was home, and June was a lovely time to be home. One sunny day, Harry was sitting quietly for a change, on a park bench near a grove of thick trees, one of his favourite places. Tammy was running around among the trees, looking for rabbits, Harry assumed. Almost for the first time, Caradoc voluntarily came and joined him, just sitting quietly beside him to begin with.

Harry smiled at him, but let Caradoc make the running. Caradoc, Harry thought, might never again want to be a part of busy conversations and the normal activities of mankind. But Caradoc was curious, and Harry found himself telling him about his boyhood, and especially about the strange link he had had at one time with Voldemort, that had finally led to the death of the Dark Lord. Even to Professor Dumbledore, Harry had never spoken much about that time, it was like it was very private. But so much time had passed, and Harry was no longer the same person as the youth who'd been given a burden almost too heavy to bear.

Harry questioned him in return. Caradoc had known his parents, who'd been murdered by Voldemort when he was just a baby. Harry was endlessly curious about that pair, and after a time, Caradoc began to be uneasy, and his conversation dried up.

Harry glanced at him. "Thanks for telling me - I never knew them, you see," and then was silent, and Caradoc gradually relaxed into the more undemanding companionship.

Caradoc began to talk to him more often after that, and Harry learned to desist as soon as he felt the first signs of his uneasiness. Caradoc was writing though, talking every day to his writing machine. He still hadn't gone off the estate, and it was Chrissy who had bought him clothes and whatever else he needed to be comfortable. He ate his meals every day in the staff dining room, and Jebedee, as promised, had organised a pension.

**x**

The headmaster and school board of Zefron School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were thrilled to hear that the great wizard would condescend to teach at their school for a year. Word spread, and arrangements were made. For security, the Potters would be given a small house on the grounds, and when Harry mentioned his love of the beach that ran close to one of the walls surrounding the school, even that was taken into account. A new little house was built adjoining the wall, and a gate was let into the wall, so that Harry would be able to go to the beach quickly and easily whenever he wanted. The gate was guarded by charms. It could not be used by just anybody.

The headmaster and board of Zefron were relishing the enormous prestige the great wizard would bring to the school. The headmaster and board members of Kandidria School, in New York, were green with jealousy. Zefron wanted him to be so happy there that he'd never want to leave.

Only Adrian was unhappy about the planned move, but he was consoled that it would probably be just for a year, and he could take Hedwig. America's Ministry of Magic wanted Harry, too, and it was arranged that he would do three days a week teaching, and Thursday or Friday, he would break spells at a wizarding area close by.

**x**

Once school holidays started, Adrian travelled with his parents on the overseas trips, still alternate weeks. Adrian had his wand with him, carrying it always. He hadn't been supposed to bring it, but he thought that a ten-year-old was perfectly responsible enough to carry a wand. Adrian was still small and thin for his age. He was the image of his father, and would only grow more like him in the years to come. His real mother had been tall and blonde, beautiful and perverted. He showed nothing of his mother's heritage.

The nightmarish time of waiting for the Dementor to return for Harry was finished, and the Potters played together now in happiness. Catherine wasn't worrying about Harry, only taking minutes to do the Niscos and weight measures at the beginning and end of every week. He was no longer any more thin that she'd come to expect of him when he was totally healthy. Just a little bit more thin than she thought he should be. He was apt to attract eyes when he swam - he still had a beautiful body, but no longer noticed anyone but Julie.

The crowds were not a big problem, smaller than they'd been.

**x**

Harry's extended family planned a big celebration for him that year. At the end of July, he would be ninety. He still looked no more than thirty, and it was only the white in his hair made him look that old. Except, sometimes, there was a look in his eyes that was as old as the hills.

First there was to be a grief. Cissy's baby came a couple of weeks early, in the middle of July. It looked like a perfect boy baby, but never breathed. Cissy knew there was a history of this sort of thing in her mother's family, but had somehow never expected it to happen to herself.

She and Bridon were devastated. Margaret and Victoria never had told Harry about that extra catastrophic relationship that Harry bore to her, and Cissy and Bridon had been away on their honeymoon when the Daily Prophet had carried the allegations. But still, if the inbreeding was responsible, surely Bridon was a total outcross. The new blood should have overcome any problems. Maybe it was just one of those things.

Meg and Vicki were the organisers of the projected party that was to be held at Harry's place, a surprise for him, although Julie knew. In the face of Cissy's grief, they didn't know whether to proceed. But Cissy said it was to go ahead. Harry had suffered so much in the past few years, and maybe once he went away, he would not return. He should have his party.

Friday, thirty-first July, Julie drove them home from the airport after the week's work, and it was immediately obvious that there was something special. Harry put on an act of surprise when he was surrounded by family saying 'Happy Birthday.' But his pleasure was not feigned. There were so many of them there. Even Beth and Jeremiah had made the trip. Children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. Some of the inlaws had not come, but there were so many. Bournes, Abercrombies, Davenports. Beth and Kate were still Potters, as Jeremiah never did have a surname, Harry's son James, his wife and their son. Others.

It's very difficult to keep a secret from someone with well developed telepathic abilities, even if he tries not to pry, and Harry had known there was something planned. It didn't matter. When he saw his house decorated and filled with family, and even the sheep paddock taken over by campers, he was overwhelmed. His family were filled with satisfaction when they saw his eyes start to glisten, and noticed the change of posture as he leaned casually against a wall, and his face tried to become cool and calm. He didn't seem to be managing his impassive pose very well that day. A baby was placed in his arms. They knew how he loved babies. It was a redhead. A lot of Harry's descendants were redheads. His first wife, Ginny, had been a redhead.

Harry thought he'd become more emotional in these last years. It was so difficult not to cry. After a little, he handed the baby back to her proud mother, and hid in a secret bedroom for twenty minutes. Meg and Vicki smiled at each other. They reckoned they'd done all right.

When Harry returned, he was able to mix, and gossip, and laugh and chatter. No matter how he was reviled, he didn't think he'd leave England for long. It was home, and his family were here.

Caradoc Dearborn didn't come out of his little house for the whole weekend. There were too many people. Will carried his meals over from the house.

**x**

The first week of August, Roumania, and the team finished work for the day. Harry was talking with Patrick and Fred about the selection of the National Quidditch team, when he hesitated and put down his cup of coffee. He was frowning, raised it to his lips again, cautiously, and then found Catherine. For the second time, someone had succeeded in poisoning him.

He wasn't very ill, although the poison had been supposed to be both undetectable and potent. He'd had half the cup, but Catherine produced a potion, and his body was able to throw it off without a great deal of trouble. There was not even any work postponed, and no-one told Julie. Even more precautions were taken to ensure the safety of their food and drink after that. An Imperius curse had been involved, and the one responsible was not caught.

Harry began to more seriously do his morning meditation. There were problems to solve. Not only was there a spell on him, but he thought there was something else. He was beginning to realise that he no longer had that protection that had so often kept him alive, an instinct for danger that had him avoiding walking into an ambush, and more than once had stopped him being poisoned, even before tasting. This was the second time he'd been poisoned, though it had never happened before he'd been taken prisoner by the Dementors, in spite of several attempts.

The next week, Jebedee visited, and found a lesson in progress. Harry was teaching Melissa and Jason's girls some defence spells, as usual totally disregarding the provisions about underage magic out of school. Simon had an arm around Naomi's waist as she waited for her turn, but Beau was beginning to have second thoughts about marrying a witch. Diane had just stunned another sheep. It was a bit daunting.

Caradoc watched, too, half hidden in some trees close. He didn't want to talk to the lively teenagers, but he was enjoying the lesson. He touched his own new wand. He'd scarcely used it, but was glad to have it. He didn't feel as if he was a wizard without a wand. One day, he thought, when he could face it, he'd go to Ollivanders and have one properly matched to him, as a wand should be.

Jebedee noticed him there, and strolled over. Caradoc did not retreat. Jebedee was head of the Auror Department, a job that Caradoc had once aspired to, in another life. Jebedee knew about Caradoc, and only made a comment as Harry helped Diane. "He gets so enthusiastic when he teaches! It's a shame that Hogwarts won't have him any more."

Caradoc answered, "He says he's going to America for a year, very soon now."

"England has been stupid, driving him out." And then he just stood with him for a while, watching.

Caradoc didn't talk to people much, and sometimes, when he did, they acted as if he needed to be protected, and were vague about unpleasantness. But Caradoc asked Jebedee to tell him about Harry and the Dementors, and Jebedee told him, even how Harry had been trapped and used, and that the Dementor had come back to use him again, but had left him alone for a few weeks, so that Harry had to wait.

He described the last scene, as he'd found them. Harry and Franz sitting side by side, leaning against Ollivanders, three other aurors, one still knocked out, scraps of black, bits of dead Dementor all over the alley. Caradoc looked calmly at Harry, who'd done the impossible, and endured the impossible, and still taken time off to rescue him from a tiny, lonely hospital ward. "Thanks for telling me."

Jebedee watched after him as Caradoc walked away. He'd told him because he thought that Harry still had wounds, well disguised now, but he was wounded. Maybe this very unusual man could help him.

**x**

Another horse show, and this time it was the biggest contingent ever. Cissy and Bridon had five mares and a stallion to show, and with Melissa's girls home, there were enough riders for them all. Harry was to ride the stallion, as the spirited horse would only go kindly for Harry. Even led, he was a handful. The Pinto seemed finally to be too old to compete. When Harry whistled him up, horse boxes waiting, he stamped his foot and turned his back. Harry went over to him, hugged him, talked to him, and the Pinto was officially retired. But all four of the Andalusian/Pinto crosses were there, shared by Melissa's girls, and Connor and Adrian.

Ian was with them, and was not surprised this time when numerous chairs and tables were handed down from inside a horse-box. He was very surprised, though, when Harry was seen in immaculate riding gear rather than faded jeans and casual shirt. To his enquiry, Harry pointed to the stallion, now stamping his feet, and looking around alertly. "Jimmy says my seat's appalling and I'm not accustomed to a saddle, but I'm the only one he'd let ride him."

Even Hermione was coming, both Chrissy and Melissa fussing over the old lady, and Will always devotedly close, ready to fetch and carry and serve.

It was a successful day, and Harry's casual slump on his horse, his long stirrups and dangling reins, didn't seem to bother the judges. Jimmy had been giving him lessons, so he knew what he had to do, but it didn't come naturally. All the same, it was a very high class stallion, and Harry thought that he'd send his own mares over to him next year, unless the boys had different ideas, of course.

He had to go back again and again, winding up with a Grand Champion. He wasn't very happy, though. The Finch-Fletchleys were there, and there was another family of wizards as well. But it never occurred to anyone that the sloppy rider of the Grand Champion Horse of Show might be the great wizard who had brought about the extinction of the Dementors.

He gave a sigh of relief when he finished, and reappeared straightaway in jeans and open necked shirt. Simon saw him. He was saddling up Tamara again. "You've got to go in the Grand Parade yet," he pointed out. "Right at the front!"

Harry was aghast. "I can't do that, someone'll recognise me. Jimmy never told me about that!"

Julie was filled with pride in her husband. "Go and get changed again, quickly. No-one's going to recognise you."

Ian watched with amusement as Harry pulled himself back up into the horsebox, grumbling, and then poked his head out. "I can't, my clothes are all on the floor and covered with dung."

Julie said, "Harry!" warningly, and Harry cleaned his riding gear with magic, changed back into them, and reappeared.

He was not the only one organising for the Grand Parade. Beau and Simon were both to appear, as they'd done well. Adrian had missed out this time, as only prize winners were to parade, but Connor had done nicely on Midnight, and two of Melissa's girls on the Andalusian mares were to be in it. There could easily have been more, but the mares were too often competing against each other. Already the Pickering stud was being noticed.

Cissy was still Madam Diefenberger to wizardry, but in the muggle world, it was decided that Pickering would be a more prudent choice of name.

The stewards ordered Harry to lead the parade, but he asked if Simon or Beau could come with him as they knew what to do. The elderly man in a white coat looked at the dangling reins and careless slouch of the man. The stallion was prancing on the spot, in great good temper, apparently pleased with himself. He nodded. The Barnes brothers had come first and second in the Open Jumping. They could share the honour, and make sure that the novice didn't do the wrong thing.

So Harry murmured to the horse, who arched his neck, stepped high, and flaunted himself. Beau heard what Harry promised the horse, that he'd have lots of girlfriends if he looked beautiful. It was doubtful if the stallion fully understood him, but few looked at the rider of the showy horse.

Beau rode close to Diane on the way back to the horse boxes. She might be able to stun a sheep with a spell, which was a bit scary, but she looked beautiful on the mare.

**x**

The last overseas trip. Greece, one of Harry's favourite destinations. He'd done these trips off and on for so many years, since not long after Ginny died. But he'd still rather be teaching. Most spells, of course, the mediwizards broke as a perfectly routine part of their practice. Cissy and Harry only did those that defeated the mediwizards.

Harry hadn't had a failure for many years, and Cissy was only defeated by some. Just because Cissy couldn't match Harry, didn't mean that she was not an immensely powerful witch. Harry had had her make an attempt at curing his problem with the Dementor spell, but Cissy couldn't even feel it.

Harry could scarcely feel it himself, which he thought a large part of the problem. Beth had a go, too, but while she could sense the spell, she was unable to do anything about it. She suggested he just put up with it - after all, many people never apparated. She was not in the slightest bit surprised, though, when he said determinedly that he'd beat it, it just needed a bit of work.

Harry was going to miss his friends among the aurors, and when the pilot accidentally let it slip that there was to be a surprise going away gathering for him, he was very pleased. Both Julie and Adrian were in on the secret. It was to be held in the auror department, which was large, and no-one there was frightened of him.

The door was guarded, and not everyone was allowed in. But Adam Bourne, Harry's stepson, emerged from the Department of Mysteries, along with most of the other seldom seen figures who did research there, and there were many others who knew him.

When Kate mentioned to her workmates that she was going, they were surprised. Kate Potter had never made any secret of the fact that Harry was her grandfather, but somehow the exotically beautiful young woman was not thought of in connection with the potentially insane monster.

Manfred Cahill went home early. He was thinking of working for some other country. He didn't think much of the way his fellow aurors here doted on the freak.

It was about this time that a Swedish mediwizard began to suspect that, in spite of her age, she could be pregnant. Barbro and Sven had married late, they had thought too late to have children. When she was sure, she told Sven. He looked at her in disbelief, and his mind immediately flew to that short encounter with Harry Potter, and yet... There was to be a baby! And he said that, in a tone of broken tenderness and wonder - a baby! They rejoiced together.

Harry Potter would never know of this child.

**x**


	27. Chapter 27

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 27:_

A month later, the Potters were fully established in their little house in the grounds of Zefron school. Harry still tried to do an hour's meditation every day. He thought he was making progress, beginning to feel the alien spell on him better each time he tried. But now, when he sat in his chair, conjured just the way he liked it, shut his eyes and thought about things, it was after dark, instead of in the morning.

In the morning, every morning, he was on the beach, striding along the firm sand when the tide was low, Tammy beside him, or only swimming when the soft sand made it too difficult to walk. Julie and Adrian sometimes joined him, though there was not much time in the morning. Julie had to take Adrian to school in the town a few miles down the coast.

Julie was thrilled to be in company again where she could talk and gossip, and impress. She would never lose the streak of snobbery that Harry was sure she'd been born with. Julie was happy, and Harry was pleased that she was happy. It had been a lot harder for Julie than it was for Harry not to be able to socialise normally.

Adrian missed Connor, and missed his riding, but he made new friends, apparently without much trouble. There was one in particular, a girl the same age as himself, though taller and heavier. Her name was Thea. The work seemed behind in comparison with his English school, and it was pretty boring. But Adrian was very bright, and took it for granted that school would be boring. Even at school, he carried his wand. He'd had to fight at the age of eight. One never knew what was in store. But there were discreet internal wand pockets in his jackets. One could not wear wizard robes in muggle company without being noticed.

The headmaster of Zefron was a man called Buck Sullivan. He was a big, bluff man in his forties. He had an unfit softness about his middle, a loud and hearty laugh, told simple jokes, and gave the impression of being of less than average intelligence. He was a very shrewd man, and gave a lot of thought as to how best to use the great wizard in order to get the most value.

After consultation with the headmaster of Hogwarts, Harry wound up doing a similar sort of thing as he'd done there. Special voluntary extra subjects, ungraded except by pass or fail, but always noted on results papers. It was an honour to have studied under the great wizard. There was some remedial work, too. Harry was so very good at that.

They hardly ever called him monster in America, and no-one recoiled in fear when he came close. When students first presented themselves for a class, they were apt to look at him with awe. He had such a reputation, but looked quite ordinary. Julie was pressing him to regrow the long mane of hair that made him look more like a wizard. Harry refused. He nearly always did what Julie told him, but he far preferred to look ordinary.

One morning, when he slipped through the gate that led to the beach, he noticed with irritation that there were a group of young men with surfboards close. It was never crowded there, and the long waves rolled in evenly - suitable for surfing. It was not that Harry didn't want to share - a beach should be open to anyone. It was just that he could not use his magic to make the soft sand into a smooth even footpath, as he'd started to do every morning. And now he floundered and stumbled as he tried to negotiate the obstacle, not much helped by his cane, currently modified to look more like a ski-pole.

Tammy barked at him, wagging her tail. Why was the boss taking so long this morning?

The youths looked at him out of the corner of their eyes, wondering whether to offer help to this man who seemed to be almost a cripple, but anxious not to embarrass him. They were busy stripping off clothes and preparing for their morning surf. They'd be here for hours. They were unemployed, and had announced to their parents they were having a gap year before starting further education and deciding on a career.

Harry left his small kitbag, with his glasses, and a towel, got to the hard sand, and walked more easily, laying his cane down, and walking straight into the ocean, having a little trouble just at first, until the water was deep enough to swim, and then stroking out, evenly and strongly.

The youths looked at each other. He didn't look much like a cripple now. Harry swam a long time, first straight out to sea, and then parallel to the shore. Tammy frolicked in and out of the waves, keeping him in sight. One of the boys whistled, and Tammy darted to him, planted a wet paw in his hand briefly when he offered to shake hands, and then hurried down the beach in case the boss got lost without her presence.

Harry nodded and grinned at one of the youths re-entering the water, as he was coming out. Again he walked easily for a few steps, and then started floundering, this time knocked right over as Tammy brushed him. He glanced at the youths. They were just far enough away, and he made the sand a bit more firm for himself, before gaining the hard earth with a sigh of relief.

He turned and softened the sand again, and one of the youths, still watching, saw him open a gate he'd never noticed before, and disappear behind the high wall.

A couple of girl students, stationed close to the gate, sighed as he entered the grounds of Zefron. Walking perfectly easily now, and wearing only brief swimmers, they thought he was gorgeous. He raised a blighting eyebrow at them, and they faded away. He was much better now than he'd once been at discouraging embarrassing advances by love-smitten girls.

The American Ministry had offered him bodyguards whenever he was out of the grounds of the school, including at the beach. He had been adamant in his refusal, and they knew that he was correct when he said that he was always a lot safer in muggle areas than in wizarding areas.

A half hour later, he wore wizard robes, and took his favourite class. It was always a popular class, even if absolutely useless to most of those he taught. Not many of them would be going into dragon care. But now the fifteen students watched with fascination as he conjured an image of a dragon, and asked how they would manage its problem. The dragon looked mournful, its eyes ran tears, and it held up a foot with a large thorn and whimpered.

Miss Berry made a suggestion, and Harry said to go ahead and try it. The pretend dragon turned on her and she was surrounded by sparks. Miss Berry laughed and said, "I take it my answer was not correct!"

Harry's face was vivid with enjoyment. "Were you really going to go that close to a dragon? Sorry, Miss Berry, you're now ashes!"

Harry loved teaching, and his students loved the way he taught. The dragon care class was a light hearted one, others were a lot more serious. Harry knew a great deal about esoteric subjects that most people had never heard of, and there were some budding intellectuals among the students who knew they were privileged to study under him.

After the first weeks, a few of the teachers, whenever they had the time free, also liked to sit in on the classes. Harry didn't mind. He was having the time of his life.

It was noticed, of course, that he had occasional fits of trembling. But as he always did, if anyone commented, he just said that it meant nothing, and, in a compelling voice, although not laced with magic, he'd say that they were to take no notice. Once someone asked him if it was because he'd been a prisoner of Dementors, but he just shook his head, and said that it was an illness over twenty years ago now, nothing to do with Dementors.

He never wanted to talk about his experiences with Dementors, though he was apt to point out that they could reappear, and few of his classes escaped being taught the Patronus Charm. Buck Sullivan never said anything, even though he thought it was just a bee in his bonnet Harry Potter had. The Dementors had never bothered anyone in America, and they were supposed to be all gone now anyway.

Frequently in the evenings, Harry would be in dress robes, tolerating the functions that Julie loved, but apt to be missing if there was any hint of speeches. He should have expected that there'd be bodyguards assigned to him, but was quite irritated nevertheless.

The American Ministry was thrilled to have the great wizard, and seldom missed an opportunity to boast about him to the rest of the world, and especially to England. The head of their Auror Department had been firmly told that he was not to come to harm, he was too valuable. Briony Williams took the charge seriously, even making a visit to see Jebedee for advice on how to manage the great wizard, who was known to be temperamental, and sometimes frankly eccentric.

Jebedee gave her some very good advice, and after a while, Harry took the aurors for granted, nodding in recognition as he came to know them.

Fridays, a Ministry car would call for him, and he'd be smoothly taken to a wizarding area not far away, in order to work his cures. Like he'd always had, there was a healer. He was called Callum Ironside. Harry Potter was not a qualified healer, and the excuse was that he should be supervised. But often enough, the Ministry Healers had been very much needed for Harry. There would be aurors, inside the room, and on guard outside, for his protection, they said.

Callum would have loved to look at Harry Potter a lot more thoroughly. The young man suspected that he would find some interesting variations from normal. Harry refused, totally and completely, and when Callum suggested that he had the power to call off the work, he was indifferent. He really didn't care if he broke spells or not. The Ministry cared, and Harry proceeded with the work, Callum becoming more and more curious as he saw what he could do.

He never bothered with the telepathic cure now, the strong magic gave far fewer problems. These were not the selected cases that Cissy had already attempted, these were just the ones that the mediwizards couldn't do. Nearly always, he was only seen to make a brief wave of his wand, though it was actually a scant second of attention that worked the cure. These were the effortless, routine cures that Harry could do in his sleep. There was a supply of overseas cases, as well, that Cissy had tried and failed. Even these were often effortless for Harry.

At low tide, on the beach he loved, he could walk for miles. His most valuable meditation began to be as he walked. He was beginning to feel that spell more and more that was such a hindrance to him. But still he'd not been able to break it. And he started to feel something else very deep within his mind, as he worked on knowing himself, working harder at the job than he had for years. There was damage there, and he remembered a spiteful comment made once - that there was no longer any braciage, so that the Dementor's taking was quick and easy.

But a deep shudder took him, he couldn't think of what the braciage might be, and whether it had anything to do with the deep, but subtle damage that he knew was there. Even after this time, he felt revolted to the soul when he thought of how he'd been used. He told himself that the damage on the edge of his perception was probably only from when he was ill, and had been left somewhat handicapped.

He was beginning to know the youths who spent most mornings at the beach, and they came to know him. Three regulars, and two more who came on weekends. The moment the first one introduced himself, Harry was disposed to like him, just because his name was Ben. Ben Weasley was a friend, and there'd been another Ben, in Australia, who'd also been a great friend. Now Ben McKenzie became a friend, as did Joe and Seth.

Ben was a freckled boy, of average build, with mouse brown hair, streaked blonde with hair dye, though he always pretended it was the sun. He looked at life as something to play, and if his parents thought him irresponsible, Harry accepted him as he was. Joe was lanky, and Seth was neatly built and dark. They always helped him across the soft sand now, and he assured them that he was very grateful.

Zefron's students were allowed out to swim at weekends, but only in strictly supervised groups. Harry thought it a shame. If it had been up to him, they would have had free access except in actual school hours.

**x**

By the beginning of November, it was getting cold, and the surfers wore rubber suits to keep warm. Harry continued to swim every day, seeming entirely unaffected by the cold. One day, Ben was sitting beside him as they watched Joe and Seth. It was a Thursday, and Harry had the day off. Dolphins joined the two surfers.

Harry rose to his feet, smiling all over his face as two surfers and three dolphins sped toward shore. "I _wish_ I could do that," he said.

"I'll give you a go if you like," Ben offered.

Harry said, hopefully, "I can ride horses, I _might_ be able to do it."

But in spite of Ben's patience, and the interested help of Seth and Joe, each time he knelt on the board, and looked toward the shore, he'd topple straight off to the left. Lying down on the board was not much better. Inevitably, it would roll to the left, and dump him.

The dolphins came close, and Harry was convinced they were laughing.

"Try shutting your eyes," said Joe, and Harry shut his eyes tight, as they lined him up, waited and gave him a shove toward the shore. This time, eyes tight closed, he was able to do it, rolling off as he got to shallow water, and laughing helplessly. He declined any further attempts, though, saying that he could do an awful lot of things, but it seemed that surfing was not going to be one of them.

No-one knew where they started, but there were rumours of a new population of Dementors. There never seemed to be any solid evidence, and the rumours were always vague, always somewhere else.

Harry was not an expert on Dementors just because he'd been a victim, and had killed several thousand, but other people seemed to think he was. He was often asked about them. He'd never talk about his own relations with them, and would point out that he had not even been able to communicate with them, that anyone who'd worked with them was more knowledgeable than himself.

His habit of scanning the sky intensified with the rumours. At the same time, he suspected they were unfounded. Whenever he became nervous, a memory of black bits of Dementor scattered over an alley was very reassuring.

He was only having occasional nightmares now, the same as he'd had almost all his life. It seemed that he was only free of them in those times when life itself had become very difficult for some reason.

**x**

In December, of the thousands of babies born, three were sired by Harry Potter, the great wizard. His weeks of half mad behaviour were to have some lasting consequences. The healers may have been almost useless with regard to morning sickness, but they were very good at managing labour. Nicki, Skye and Barbro had easy and joyous deliveries. Nicki and Skye had girls, born within minutes of each other. Barbro had a boy, who would grow up tall and blonde, a typical Swede.

**x**

Back in England, Draco Malfoy was carefully and gradually changing the editorial policy of the newspaper he'd bought, the most widely read wizard newspaper in the country. The Daily Prophet no longer talked of Harry Potter as a monster. Instead, letters to the editor started complaining that England had lost his unique spell-breaking abilities. Articles from American newspapers were reproduced, that boasted about having him there - his teaching, his lectures, his value generally. Rumours were quite deliberately spread - that the American Ministry thought England so absolutely stupid to have let him go. They were 'crowing,' it was said.

Barbara Bancroft was all in favour of changing the public perception of Harry, and cooperated with an interview that presented him as a victim of unjustified persecution. There were hints of long lasting damage done to the great wizard by the Dementors, with a reminder that he was still unable to apparate after being hit by Dementor magic.

When it was thought to be time, a picture was taken of Paul, Heinrich and Lucas, with a reminder that Harry Potter had gone alone into the Dementors' stronghold, and rescued the three aurors, and the terrible penalty he'd paid. Paul's new wife, Mandy, was interviewed, saying that she owed her happiness to Harry.

A few weeks later, a photo appeared of goodlooking Simon, talking about working with him, the death threats that he was subject to, and how he loved to swim at the beach and eat ice-creams. A new and much more kindly image was being manufactured, and Simon was said to have referred to him as 'Our Harry,' whether he had or not.

Draco didn't push it. A slow change of perception was needed, that would last. His vilification had been extreme.

Jebedee Shacklebolt was interviewed, and although it was not revealed that the sole surviving Dementor had used Harry that terrible December day, it was revealed that he was threatened with use, and that it had come back for him. And this time, when the Ministry stated that the explosion in Diagon Alley had killed no-one, and only exploded a Dementor and broken a few windows, it was accepted.

Not long before Christmas, a photograph was reproduced on the front page, taken in Paris, some time ago, but presented as recent, and taken in America. 'Our Harry,' with his son, both with an ice-cream in hand. They were laughing - the boy so like his father, both of them wearing glasses. It was a photograph that provoked smiles, and people started to remember that Harry had not always been a monster, even that it was only a few years before that he'd taught their children at Hogwarts.

Over the next months, more carefully chosen photographs were used, and each article that mentioned him was vetted by Draco personally. Criticism, and renewed allegations that he was a dangerous monster, were simply not published. Draco Malfoy was very good at what he did.

The Quibbler did its part, speaking about lectures that Harry Potter had presented in America, and when Harry sent in an article he'd written about Irikkson's liprich, they looked through their files to find a photograph that made him look as kindly and harmless as possible. The one chosen showed him gazing dotingly at the face of a small baby, a pose which had nothing whatever to do with liprichs.

Not long before Christmas, Harry walked the beach as he did nearly every day, walking easily, rhythmically, as his thoughts wandered. He stopped, looking into the distance, worked a touch of magic, smiled all over his face, glanced around in case of witnesses, and apparated a short distance. He'd broken the spell, he could do it again, and suddenly the world was open to him, he could go wherever, whenever he wanted, provided only that he knew the place, or there was someone there he knew sufficiently to apparate to.

He wanted to apparate straight to Julie, to tell her, but Ben had raised an arm in the distance, greeting him, and he could not just vanish.

He wanted to tell someone though, straight away, and he sent a thought to Beth, a thought of triumph. She smiled in sympathy, as she heard and shared his pleasure. Beth knew that Harry had sustained damage, and knew that he shied away still from thought of what had been done to him. She wondered if he was becoming aware of that damage. He'd obviously been working hard enough to overcome the spell. She doubted if he could overcome the damage, though.

Harry didn't stay with Ben and the others that day, he just grabbed his little kitbag from where he'd left it, whistled for Tammy, and vanished through the gate.

The muggles never asked about the place where he lived and worked, the Charms that protected it meant that muggles were never curious, and if they tried to think about what went on behind the high stone walls, their thoughts would stray to other things in spite of themselves. The large school, in clear sight in a populated area, was hidden almost as well as Hogwarts was hidden.

Julie was thrilled for him. She knew that it had fretted him to depend on muggle transport. Harry and Julie hadn't been home since they'd arrived, and it was nearly Christmas. But now Harry asked her if she minded if he went home just quickly to say hello to everyone. There was a time that Harry would not have admitted to Julie that he could apparate between continents, but Julie was now more accepting that he was not a normal person, and she only kissed him, and reminded him of the time difference. He had to wait for a few hours.

Mid-morning, British time, Harry appeared in the apparation zone in the grounds of his own home, and looked around. It was cold, gloomy, and lightly raining. There was a broad smile on Harry's face. Zefron had been very kind to him, and the climate was a lot more pleasant, but it was not home.

It seemed there was no-one watching the apparation zone. Maybe they thought that no enemies would appear when it was so cold. But no, he was wrong. Caradoc Dearborn watched from the shelter of some trees. Harry raised a hand, and Caradoc raised a hand back, but didn't approach.

He walked to Hermione's office, the external building looking very brightly lit, and decorated for Christmas. He wanted to see the old lady, who'd been a friend for so long. But the first that Hermione knew of his presence was when he slipped in a muddy puddle close to the door, and fell on his behind with a fairly mild_ "Damn!"_

He was just getting up as she peeped outside the door, mud all over his cape. She smiled at him. "I was thinking it was about time you broke that spell!"

Harry grinned at her sheepishly. "It took a while!" Then she ordered him sternly to stay still, and she used a spell to clean and dry his clothes.

They talked a long time then, the old man who still looked young, and his friend of the past seventy-nine years. It was comfortable, cosy, with a warm fire burning, that was managed by Hermione so that it never smoked and needed no fuel. Harry counted the cats in front of the fireplace, seven of them!

Caradoc had not told anyone that the boss had called in, and it was only when Sybil came to Hermione to have a burn on her wrist treated, that anyone else knew he was home.

He lunched in the staff dining room, and the moment he'd finished, found some large drawings placed in front of him. Simon and Beau had done poorly this year at the December horse show, and blamed constant rain and mud at home. Three days before the show, Tamara had fallen in the slippery mud, and wrenched her shoulder. She was still out of action. Now there were plans put to Harry for an indoor arena where they could practise all year. Harry asked where, and a place was indicated, a long way from the house.

Margaret was close, and not showing disapproval, so Harry assumed he had enough money. But it was old Kevin who sealed the deal, "If you make the roof high, Adrian can practice Quidditch."

Harry's property was a thousand acres, most of them never used, except by rabbits, foxes and badgers. There was plenty of space, and both Beau and Simon were valuable to Harry as employees. Besides he was fond of the boys.

"Combine it with a Quidditch pitch, probably Kevin can tell you what's needed, and you can have what you want."

Beau and Simon cheered, and then dragged him off to see how the young horses were developing. Simon had to take his arm, though, as he was not good in the treacherous mud.

In the Old Horses' comfortable paddock, the little pinto noticed the boss was home, opened the gate, and led a procession to say hello to Harry, Cloud and Misty, the grey ponies, and Clarice and Kentucky.

"Pinto seems to like the paddock," Simon observed, "He always goes back at night." Harry laughed and hugged the little horse, so full of character.

He had to say hello to all the horses then, sat for a while talking to John's widow, admired Tracy's fat baby, and then visited Cissy and Bridon. It was Cissy who handed him a newspaper, turned to the third page, and showed him the charming picture of himself and Adrian.

"I made some enquiries," she said. "Draco Malfoy now controls the Daily Prophet."

Harry looked at her quizzically, "So I'm no longer a monster?"

"The papers are very influential - but it's hard to know how far general opinion has been swayed."

Bridon said, "It's mostly fear. Seems to me that you should keep it quiet that you can apparate again, and people will fear you less."

Harry thought about it. "It's a dreadful inconvenience," he finally said, "But maybe for a time."

He rose, "I'll have to ask the others at home to keep it quiet."

Harry consulted Hermione, who agreed that it would be an excellent idea to keep it quiet that he could now apparate again, and said, as Bridon had, that it was only fear. Harry's employees were loyal, and while Harry didn't stop apparating, he did it very discreetly.

**x**


	28. Chapter 28

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 28:_

Callum, the American Ministry healer, had been longing for months for a chance to do a very thorough examination of Harry Potter. It was purest curiosity for Callum, and he didn't deceive himself that it was anything else. Two highly respected specialists, however, put their own curiosity down to disinterested scientific research, of enormous potential value to wizardry. Callum agreed to call them if he had the opportunity, but refused indignantly when it was suggested that an opportunity be arranged.

It was two days before Christmas, and nearly all the students were off on their Christmas break, when Harry was called urgently to New York for some spell-breaking. Pumpkin-heads. Several of them, all at once. Someone had been celebrating Christmas, it seemed, in the most wicked way he could imagine. Five muggles, two wizards.

By the time, Harry was flown to the city, there were two more muggles, and an auror turned into monsters. The culprit had not yet been apprehended. Callum came too, as the healer assigned to Harry, and two of his regular bodyguards, Evie and Craig. Two more aurors were to meet them. Callum sent a message to his two colleagues. He didn't really expect an opportunity to have a close look at the great wizard, but he knew they'd be interested in watching him work.

Pumpkin-heads were luckily rare, and Harry used the plane trip to explain to Callum and the aurors, what he'd be doing, and what they needed to be alert for. He explained that he would want two in the room with him, and preferably a third when he did the auror. That in his previous experience, muggles would immediately faint, and be as if drugged for hours after, and wizards would generally go berserk and try to kill him. He wasn't going to bother trying to teach anyone to conjure the barrier, but told them about it, and that it would vanish in a half hour if, for any reason, he was not able to do it himself.

"They can be dangerous, then," said Craig, who was about forty.

"Oh, yes, very dangerous," said Harry, and wished he could have Patrick with him, who was so quick. Still, the muggles were unlikely to be dangerous, and even wizards were a lot safer since his telepathy had improved sufficiently that he could use a barrier between himself and the patient.

They arrived at the place, the square where he'd worked the previous year, and had to remind himself sternly that the Dementor was now quite definitely dead - exploded into about a hundred pieces. He had a fit of trembling as they crossed the square.

They argued with him as he stated that he'd do the muggles first. There was the view that muggles were insignificant compared to wizards. But Harry was adamant. Muggles started to die straight away, and were difficult compared to wizards. He would do the muggles first.

The muggles, as expected, were tedious and difficult. A dozen observers, sitting safely behind a see-through wall, watched as he struggled with them. They included the two specialist mediwizards, friends of Callum's. One by one, the rescued muggles were taken off by ambulance.

Seven muggles done, and Harry rose, stretching. It had been hard work. He glanced at the last three, and then did a double-take, now there were five.

"Maybe I should leave these for the moment, and go get the bastard myself," he observed.

They firmly discouraged him, and Evie asked if he wanted a break. Harry nodded, adding that he'd also like something to eat before tackling the last ones.

He went and leaned against the wall outside, to the pleasure of the gathering crowd. He ignored them, and only did a scan of the sky. There were still those vague rumours. An assistant presented him with cake and coffee. Harry had done seven slow and difficult patients, and, as always, it made him hungry.

He asked for a bread roll or some sandwiches as well, and the witch hurried off. It was the great wizard, and he should have what he wanted.

The auror in charge introduced himself, Hugh. Harry hadn't met Hugh before, and perhaps because he was already very tired, took an immediate dislike to him. The man was balding, but obviously thought he was very attractive, and appeared as if he had his mind more on impressing Evie than on doing his job. But Harry felt no threat, and only leaned against the wall, cane leaning beside him, as he ate and drank.

But pumpkin-heads were urgent, and he didn't linger.

He reminded Evie and Craig again that wizards were likely to go berserk, as the next pumpkin-head was led in. He didn't need to touch this one. He could feel straight away he was alive, and directed where be should be placed, erected the barrier, and concentrated. Compared to the muggles, he was quick and easy. He even managed to keep him relatively calm until he was taken away by the ambulance crew.

The next was similar, but the concentration needed to keep him calm was greater, and afterward, he had a severe trembling attack. He was accustomed to this, and just leaned against the wall as he waited for it to pass.

Callum saw an opportunity, and insisted that he should be checked before he continued, and when Harry refused, threatened to cancel the work.

Harry was irate, turning on him furiously and asking how _he _would like to be a prisoner like that, indicating the next pumpkin-head that now stood placidly, waiting.

Callum stood his ground, "Your welfare is my duty - and I only want to do the Niscos, it'll only take a minute."

Harry paced the floor, furious, but not wanting to delay the work. Pumpkin-heads were urgent - it was such a dreadful imprisonment. He conceded, "Only the Niscos, and in private!" as he glanced at the observers looking very interested.

And when they went off to a private room, Harry glanced at the monitor, and made the readings indicate perfectly normal, both the LV and the energy.

Callum was suspicious, he had heard rumours of an abnormal LV, and Harry was looking very tired, depending much more heavily on his cane that he'd ever seen, and beginning to tremble again for about the fifth time since he'd begun to take notice. But everyone knew that the monitor could not be influenced by uncooperative patients. He nodded, and Harry went back to work.

Harry knew he was becoming very tired, and didn't make the effort to keep the next patient calm with his telepathic skills. Once restored, the man hurled himself against the barrier, trying furiously to get to Harry, whom he knew had done something unimaginably awful to him.

Harry wove a calming spell, which was easy, but looked around for the ambulance team. Craig was talking to the patient, calling him Tom, saying that he was all right now, that he was cured. Tom was the auror, and Craig had trained with him.

Harry poked his head out and asked where the ambulance team were.

"On their way," said Hugh, interrupted as he told a witch how he'd defeated a vampire. The witch was listening, full of admiration.

Harry suspected Hugh had never even seen a vampire. Harry had never seen a vampire himself - they were extremely rare.

Tom was taking no notice of Craig, pacing up and down on his side of the barrier, looking balefully at Harry.

"Stay with him," Harry said, "I'll take myself out of his sight."

Callum asked Harry what the delay was. "No ambulance team. They should be waiting before I start. There's been some inefficiency," a rare criticism from Harry, and he went back into the waiting room, and sat, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, making the most of the break.

He rose after ten minutes, and briefly checked the last two pumpkin-heads, frowning as he felt immediately that they were muggles, and seemed to be in the process of dying.

"I'll do the next two in the waiting room," he told Callum. "They're muggles and might take a while, but they're unlikely to be dangerous."

Craig stayed behind in the workroom, he thought that Tom was calm, and he tried to vanish the barrier in order to take him outside to wait. He couldn't, of course - it was one that was conjured by Harry.

Evie joined Harry. "Be ready," he said to Evie, "You can never relax with these."

He set to work. He was getting better and this one only took a few minutes, the easiest muggle that Harry had ever done, and as soon as restored, he just fainted, as was standard for muggles.

Two mediwizards, the friends of Callum's, came from the observation room, and watched as Harry tackled the last. He was looking very tired, trembling yet again as he worked.

In the other room, the barrier vanished. Craig continued to talk to Tom, who seemed calm and rational. Craig was thinking that Harry had over-stated the danger of pumpkin-heads, and remembered that he wasn't really very brave. There'd been a lot of talk about his state after seeing the Dementor last year.

Harry was sitting in front of the last muggle pumpkin-head, deep in concentration, holding her hand for better telepathic contact. The pumpkin melted away and a woman sat, looking around, dazed.

Harry was not yet fully alert - it always took a moment to come back when he entered another's mind, and it was always harder with muggles, as if their minds were not quite compatible with his own.

Craig started to walk through, the ex-pumpkin-head wizard next to him, Callum following, a little behind.

The wizard saw Harry, his rage came rushing back, he seized Harry, lifting him straight up out of the chair by the neck and one arm, and swung him around, crashing him into the wall.

Harry blasted him off with his magic, but only stayed on the floor, coughing, and finding it hard to breathe. He expected the aurors to deal with the berserk man, as was their job.

Craig was slow, Evie, too, and Tom, with the lightning speed and berserk strength of a madman, picked up a chair, and crashed it down on Harry's head, before belatedly being stunned by Evie.

Even then, Craig had hesitated, and now apologised, "Sorry, Tom."

Harry now bled heavily from a scalp wound as well. He focussed on Craig, "Incompetent," he got out, and lay back down, closing his eyes.

His head was spinning, and his neck hurt, although he seemed to be able to breathe again. He wished he had Catherine. She'd fix him without fuss. Callum only gaped.

Healers Davies and Breedon joined their young colleague. Belatedly, Callum came to Harry's side, instructing him to turn his head, and close his eyes, so he could fix the cut on his head.

Harry obeyed, and Breedon took the opportunity to work a very quiet stun spell. Even Callum didn't notice what he was doing, although Davies did.

Harry had some very expert care then, the various bruises and cracked ribs being cured, quickly and easily, with spells and lotions.

Davies said, "He'll have to spend a night or two in hospital, I'll treat him myself."

Callum thought that Harry was lucky to have the best, and went to Hugh to organise it. As soon as he was gone, Breedon took something from his bag. Craig was helping load Tom into an ambulance, although Evie was still in the room, supposedly protecting him. But she hadn't expected him to need protection against the unprincipled curiosity of a mediwizard.

Evie watched, but what was done was discreet, and Harry would be unconscious for hours. There was going to be ample opportunity for the distinguished and highly regarded healers to have their way, and satisfy their curiosity.

For several hours, in the small wizard hospital that Davies ruled, three healers took the opportunity to do every test imaginable, working late into the night. Healer Ironside very quickly discovered that the Nisco readings he'd taken earlier had been falsified. It made him feel better about all the unauthorised tests they were doing now.

Their Nisco monitors required modification before they could get a true reading, as did a few others. The LV was not the only thing that was abnormal.

The healers were overjoyed. This was fabulous. The man was unique, but they were careful. There was a small sensor taped to Harry's forehead, and they kept a close watch on the consciousness indicator. Harry Potter was known to be a bit paranoid.

When he woke, there was Callum Ironside, whom he knew, and Evie in the room with him. They were tired, but they had their orders. Harry Potter should not wake to find himself with strangers, in a place he didn't know. They didn't want accidents. It was a pleasant hospital room, with its own bathroom and toilet, even flowers.

Harry was feeling tired, dazed, but he was quite hungry again, and ate the snack they brought him without hesitation.

Not long later, he was woken, and cooperated as Breedon and Davies made use of a monitor he hadn't seen before. Callum was looking on. They were being very careful and precise, holding the sensor to various parts of his head, sometimes telling him to think of certain things, and then writing down figures, even touching a button, to make pictures appear.

Harry could feel their curiosity, but also there was concern for their patient. There was a comment from Breedon, "There's undeniably damage, but something might be able to be done," a perfectly appropriate thought for a healer.

They finished, and told him to go back to sleep. Harry lay down again, beginning to wonder at his own obedience, but went straight to sleep anyway.

In the morning, he declined his breakfast, and looked for his things. Craig was in the room with him, and he asked where his clothes were.

"Being cleaned probably," said Craig, who was feeling cross and tired. He remembered Harry calling him incompetent, too. He was not much in charity with Harry Potter.

"My shoes, my wand, my wallet," Harry said, "All being cleaned?"

He was frowning at Craig. "Surely they wouldn't be so abysmally stupid as to try and keep me against my will!"

"Of course not. Healer Breedon said they'd come in early and have a talk with you."

Harry was still frowning. He was also hungry and thirsty, but he was suspicious. "What happened yesterday? That pumpkin-head..."

"Tom!" interrupted Craig.

Harry nodded, corrected, "Tom! He hurt me, but he didn't knock me out. So why am I here?"

Craig answered, "The healers said it was concussion, but also exhaustion."

It was a reasonable explanation. Harry knew that he'd been very tired, and there had been times before when he'd simply fainted from exhaustion, and not revived for hours, though it hadn't happened for many years.

"May I borrow your wand?" asked Harry.

It went very much against the grain for a wizard, especially an auror, to hand over his wand. But Harry's suspicion had been obvious, and after all, his bodyguards were supposed to be on his side. Reluctantly, Craig handed his wand to Harry. Harry relaxed a lot. He was obviously not a prisoner, and he used the wand to make himself a comfortable chair, to conjure some clothes, no bright colours, in case he had to be inconspicuous, and a glass, before handing the wand back to Craig with a brief thank you.

Craig was surprised when he had a drink of water from the washbasin, rather than from the tempting breakfast on the tray, but when he commented, Harry simply offered him the breakfast if he wanted it, and had a shower and dressed. He may have been suspicious, but he didn't seem to be in danger, and he was now fully alert. He was the great wizard. No-one could beat him in anything like a fair fight.

When he came back, Craig asked him if he really didn't want his breakfast. Harry shook his head, briefly, and went to the door but found it locked. They didn't seem to realise here that his wand was irrelevant, a state of affairs he quite enjoyed, so refrained from simply opening the door with his magic.

Craig poured himself some orange juice from the breakfast tray, and Harry warned, "It might be drugged!"

"Nonsense," said Craig. "Your meals are watched carefully. There's been a lot of fuss having you here."

He started eating the now cold toast. Harry was a bit concerned, frowning at him.

Craig looked up. "I told you, you're being paranoid - the food isn't poisoned and isn't drugged!"

Harry paced up and down the room for a moment, and glanced at Craig, "I don't think you should eat it, and I want my things back, if you can get hold of them."

Craig sighed, and put the tray on a table. "We're not incompetent, and we _are _looking after you!" he stated.

Harry apologised, "Sorry I called you incompetent yesterday." It had obviously rankled, and he admitted, "Ex-pumpkin-heads have taken me by surprise often enough!"

Healers Davies and Breedon entered the room, with Callum Ironside. Breedon glanced at the breakfast tray. He thought enough had been taken to ensure compliance, though more would have been better.

Harry was watching, waiting, very aware, but he was not searching their minds, and missed the thought. There were greetings and they asked him how he felt. Breedon was taking the lead, Callum holding back respectfully.

Harry was polite, if rather distant. Breedon got to the point, saying that their examination had uncovered areas of brain damage that were probably responsible for his disabilities, and also another area of damage that was likely to have been caused by repeated use by Dementors.

Harry was expressionless, but Craig looked up, surprised. Repeated use by Dementors? He hadn't quite realised that.

Harry held out a hand for Breedon's results, and Breedon, to his own surprise, handed them over. Harry spread them out, and allowed Breedon to explain them.

"You must have an improved monitor," observed Harry.

"Developed it myself," nodded Breedon, proudly.

Looking at him closely, Harry said, "I'm surprised at myself, I don't like being examined..."

Breedon looked away guiltily, and Harry dropped his polite reservations about searching his mind.

Docility Potion on that night time snack. That was the first thing. Harry went and leaned against the wall, regarding the three healers coldly.

"What happened yesterday when I was knocked about?" he asked.

They started to lie, and he repeated his words with a touch of magic. Both Callum and Craig were open-mouthed when Breedon admitted to a stun spell, and also to use of drugs.

"Breakfast?" Harry asked.

"We wanted you to agree to be treated, so there's Docility Potion mixed with it."

Harry spoke calmly to a stunned Craig. "You'd best tell your supervisor. You won't be fit for duty for a few hours."

He turned his attention to Callum then, and asked how much he'd known of it. It appeared not much. Harry ordered the healers to hand over their wands, overcoming their initial resistance easily.

He raised one of the wands, and a sparkling field surrounded the two august mediwizards, decorated with flashes of light and sparks. There was a gentle muttering, too, like distant thunder. In a voice that condemned, he accused them of treachery, and of violating their oath as healers.

Craig watched, but he was under the influence of a drug, and didn't interfere. The mediwizards were sure they were about to be killed. And for the first time, they fully realised what they'd done; they'd attacked the great wizard!

Callum tried to tell Harry that he shouldn't hurt them, but Harry only extended the field, so that he, too, was held helpless, in the middle of magic that appeared both potent and terrifying. There were brown sparks flying now, suddenly, frighteningly, centred on the middles of Breedon and Davies.

Harry wasn't even very angry, just making it quite clear that he was not a subject on which to make their experiments.

He left then, using a wand to open the door, and leaving the mediwizards still surrounded by a field of magic. With a thought, he ensured the aurors at the door would not notice him leave, and flew as a hawk from a window. He wasn't going to bother with explanations. He was just going back to his wife, leaving behind the incompetence and the treachery he'd found in New York.

Breedon's wand was found left on the floor, the field that had prevented anyone from approaching the mediwizards faded away after a short time, and both Breedon and Davies bolted for the toilet. It may have been fright, or it may have been Harry's revenge. Neither of them knew. They didn't complain to the Ministry, even though the acute diarrhoea lasted over a week.

It was Christmas Eve. Harry left behind him a terrible fuss, especially when Julie refused to admit that he was home for two days, though she did say that he'd been in contact. Harry's possessions were left with her. Briony Williams, the head of the American Auror Department, was furious, and as soon as they were well enough, both Breedon and Davies discreetly left on an extended trip to Europe.

The wizard responsible for the pumpkin-heads had too much to drink, reeled unsteadily onto the road, and was mown down by a semi-trailer. The driver didn't notice.

**x**

Three days after Christmas, Harry was having a glorious time, on a sailboat with Ben, Joe and Seth. At first, he'd tried to help as they manipulated sails, pulled ropes, and generally fussed around, but after he'd nearly fallen in twice, and did fall in once, he was firmly placed on a seat, and told to stay there, absolutely not to try and help.

So Harry sat where he was put, drank beer with the others, laughed and told sometimes bawdy stories. The boys were in their nineteenth year, Harry was ninety. They had a wonderful time together.

Mooring the boat on their return, and packing away sails, was quite a business. None of them were sober. Ben seemed to be very drunk indeed, and was almost as useless as Harry, who could not cope with even the very gentle rocking of the moored boat.

Jebedee and Franz looked at each other in disbelief as Joe and Seth hauled him onto the pier, all of them winding up in a heap, and still laughing. Harry was never drunk! Briony Williams was with them, but she didn't know Harry as well, and only thought they'd chosen a bad time.

Joe and Seth staggered off together, and Harry held a swaying Ben firmly on his right arm, trying to keep his balance with his cane on the left. They were having so little success that Jebedee and Franz went to help.

"Jebedee!" called Harry in pleasure, abandoning his swaying friend, and giving the big man an uninhibited hug.

"Franz," gripping his hand hard with pleasure, but this time it was reserved Franz who pulled him into a hug.

Harry was still grinning all over his face, as he smiled at Briony, "Briony," and then suddenly concerned, "You're not here to arrest me, are you?"

Briony shook her head, "Of course not! You were treated very badly. That's what we came to talk about."

But Harry was looking back at his swaying friend, and swaying quite considerably himself. "We can't talk now. I think Ben might have had a bit too much to drink. I'm taking him home."

They watched the pair go, laughing uproariously together as they swayed and staggered all over the footpath and onto the road.

"Think we'd better help?" grinned Franz to Jebedee.

There was a lot better progress made then, although Ben's mother was not very pleased with Harry. She knew he was a teacher and had expected better of him.

Afterward, they sat together on a park bench, overlooking the sea. Franz was asking Harry about his friends. He seemed to be a lot more sensible now, out of the company of the youngsters.

"They're having what they call a gap year," explained Harry. "Just an excuse for loafing really, but it's a wonderful place to loaf!" He laughed again, "I tried surfing, it wasn't a success!"

Jebedee raised an eyebrow at Briony, who took it as a signal to get to business. She was apologising abjectly to Harry that the aurors had failed to protect him, even watching as he was stunned and drugged.

Harry was in no mood to be serious, and just called her attention to the dolphins playing out past the waves, scarcely seeming to take notice of what she was saying.

Briony looked in despair at Jebedee, who took over, "What Briony needs to know is if you're willing to continue with the spell-breaking."

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, "I suppose - it's not the first time that healers have seized the opportunity to have a look at me when I'm in no state to resist," and he cocked a humerous eyebrow at Jebedee.

Briony stated, "I won't roster Evie and Craig on again, of course - they let you down badly."

But Harry said, "I prefer people I know with me when I work - I'm willing to continue with the same team - they might not be, of course." And he said, repentant, "Poor Callum didn't deserve to be frightened half to death, and Craig was annoyed with me even before that."

"It's all right then?" asked Briony, surprised. Maybe her emergency trip to enlist the help of Jebedee had not been necessary.

Harry rose, swaying, walked around to the tall and dignified women, and raised her hand, kissing the back of it with drunken courtliness. "You worry too much!"

Harry was not as unaffected as he pretended. He'd been reminded that it was not really all that difficult for others to render him helpless, and he'd been up twice since then, walking in the dark, after nightmares that Julie couldn't soothe.

The routine weekly spell-breaking stints resumed in early January. Callum, Evie and Craig waited for him, all looking rather embarrassed. Harry was embarrassed himself, but greeted them as if nothing had happened. They apologised to him, the three of them together, as they'd planned. Harry shrugged and said not to worry about it, suggesting that they were late, and had to get started, though they were not.

Afterward, though, he asked Callum to relay to his mediwizard friends that if anything was published about his health or abnormal readings, he would be very upset. Healer Ironside hastened to say that he'd let them know just as soon as he could.

**x**


	29. Chapter 29

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 29:_

Harry made another short visit home in January, finding to his annoyance, that the ground was covered with snow. Snow was even worse than mud. He apparated as much as possible that day, and still fell several times.

The final plans for an indoor arena were completed, high enough and big enough for a Quidditch pitch. Harry gave them the nod. He also gave the nod to the idea of having the two horse boxes painted with the words 'Barnes Brothers.' Simon and Beau were becoming well known. It was known that their father was manager of the property, and when people asked, they were vague about the owner, saying that he was an absentee landlord, that they never saw him.

Harry had decided that hiding behind the famous Barnes Brothers was probably as good a protection as anything else. It wasn't really, it was just that Harry tended to regard all his employees as family, to be taken under his wing, usually for life. Kevin and Sophey Wiley still had a house there, though Kevin was no longer fit enough to do much work, and John's widow had her house, joining the staff for main meals, and being driven into town when she wanted by Chrissy, or one of the others. When the weather was bad, Will would carry her meal over for her. She was well looked after.

Hermione had a solid, non-slip path provided for her use from her office to the house, but it was the office that she liked most. It was especially hers, and she enjoyed her status as the honoured elder of the people who lived there.

Harry had a request. He told her what the American mediwizard had said about brain damage produced by Dementors, and asked her opinion. He was trying to overcome his repugnance at thinking about that time. Twenty-five or so years ago, he'd been able to heal himself when he'd sustained very significant brain damage, not altogether, but to a much larger extent than his healers had thought possible. Maybe this time he could do something, too.

He knew there was something, and once, when he managed to delve deeper into his own mind than ever before, he saw a great silvery lake, that he knew was of enormous significance. It wasn't really a lake, of course, but even in his own mind, things had to be put into a visual language that was understandable. Then, sometimes, he knew, they could be repaired with his own careful magic.

Hermione did some meticulous checking with her monitor, but as before, came up only with the indications of the old damage. Harry observed that the Americans had wanted to do something, to try and repair some of the damage.

Hermione looked at him, frowning, finally saying that she didn't think he should risk it, that interference was as likely to make things worse as better. She remembered him being almost helpless in a wheelchair, even his arms and hands so uncoordinated that he refused to eat or drink in public because of the mess. That he could do so much now was a miracle.

Harry got up, kissed the old lady, and thanked her. He tended to agree that he shouldn't meddle, and yet he felt damaged, and it wasn't the old injuries that bothered him. It was something to do with that silvery lake. And he still shuddered away from thoughts of a 'braciage,' whatever that was.

Harry saw Caradoc outside his house as he started to leave, and there was something in his posture... Usually he let Caradoc do the approach if he wanted to, but this time he went to Caradoc's house, and was invited inside.

They talked a long time. Caradoc had endured an unimaginable imprisonment. He'd been left with a wisdom that few shared. Harry found that with this man, he could talk about hurts that he could share with no-one else. It would be a while yet, though, before he could face what had happened, and he would not be able to fix the physical damage until he could look clearly at what had been done, and not shrink away from the very thought.

**x**

Harry was taking his last lesson of the day one Tuesday in February. Some of his students were chatting excitedly, others looked baffled. He'd introduced them to a difficult new concept, one that was still very controversial.

An alarm rang through him as Adrian called urgently for help. Harry looked up, stepped swiftly outside the door, and silently vanished. His students didn't know where he'd gone, and when it was time, packed up and left.

Harry arrived suddenly beside Adrian, and Thea cried out in her shock. A middle-aged man slumped beside the open door of a car.

"I stunned him, Dad," said Adrian. "He was trying to drag Thea into the car."

"Good boy!" said Harry, in a tone of warm approval. "But put your wand away now, people are coming."

Thea was still staring, her eyes wide open, and going from her friend, to his father, to the man on the ground behind the car.

"This is Thea, Dad," said Adrian.

"Thea," said Harry, and he put out his arms to her.

The girl's eyes were streaming tears, and she went to the strange man who wore a cape, and he held her, saying in a comforting voice, "It's all right, now, it's all over - it looks like he's having a heart attack."

The man's eyes were half open now, but he had a hand pressed to his chest, and was breathing with difficulty. Harry had his mind open to the man. He wasn't finished with him yet.

People were coming now, and questions were being asked. Harry took control, in such an easy fashion that it was not queried. The man had been trying to drag Thea into the car, and had suddenly collapsed, holding his chest and groaning. He suggested they ring the police and an ambulance.

He turned to Adrian, and told him to go with Thea to her home, and he added in a voice inside Adrian's mind, that when she was calmer, he should ask her to leave out bits about wands, and sudden appearances out of nowhere.

Adrian nodded, and took Thea's hand. He whispered in her ear, and they ran from the situation. Adrian felt again his father's approval.

The police were not too happy that the main witnesses to an attempted abduction had run away. On the other hand, it didn't look like the alleged culprit was going far. They checked his identity, Paulus Blake. He had a record, though nothing in years. He would be under guard in hospital.

Blake continued to suffer chest pain, though not agonising. Later that evening, Harry leaned against the outside of the hospital building, and explored his mind. It made him feel sick. Blake was a serial child rapist. There was a special place he always took them, and that's where they'd be buried. There was no evidence against him, as he always killed his victims.

Harry did a slow scan of the sky. There was still no solid evidence of a renewed population of Dementors, and the gesture was just a postponement. He didn't like killing, but Blake would have killed his son's friend, had killed many times before, innocent girls, and if left free, would kill again.

Blake's chest pain died down, and he went peacefully to sleep. His daughter sat beside him, holding his hand. To her, he was a loving father. She had no reason to think that others might consider his execution warranted. Blake was having pleasant dreams, nothing to do with raping little girls. He smiled in his sleep, and died.

Harry stood, glanced around to make sure he was not watched, and disapparated back into his little home at Zefron.

Enquiries into the attempted abduction became half hearted. Thea said nothing about spells, and wizards appearing from nowhere. She looked at Adrian differently, though, and their friendship became very special.

**x**

Harry White was now a very powerful Dark Wizard. He knew a lot more about Harry Potter, but didn't know that their shared first name was anything more than a coincidence. White had been an ally of the Dementors, the initiator of the scheme to take control of more and more people, and more and more territory. But the Dementors had not been easy to work with. The Goblins were better, and plans would soon be put into action.

The great wizard had been a worry for a time, and White was very conscious of his potential threat. It was a pleasure to White that he'd been incapacitated by Dementor magic - Harry Potter could no longer apparate. But that might not necessarily be permanent.

White had some telepathic skills, and was developing them a lot younger than Harry had done. He was now confident that he could guard his mind sufficiently that Harry would not be able to know his mind from a distance, and would not be able to apparate to him, as he must have done in the past.

Australian wizardry was almost left alone by White now, to their relief. Now it was Northern European wizardry who were beginning to know and fear him. His spells were not easily broken, and Cissy had had several on her list in the last months, including women and children with conjured ropes around wrists and ankles that no-one had been able to vanish.

When White used muggle girls, he used ordinary ropes. Even White knew that it was better that muggles not know of the existence of wizards in their midst. But the wives and daughters of wizards were often used with more than just his sexual satisfaction in mind, and the ropes would be a permanent reminder.

Cissy could vanish his ropes and undo his spells without trouble, but didn't have the feeling for spells that Harry did. Harry would probably have recognised the characteristic signature, and maybe even have felt the feeling of family.

White visited home now and then, keeping Rebecca in a state of fear, and always visiting his mother…

Michelle White deeply loved her son. The man she married had always known that he was not the genetic sire of the child, but had loved Michelle, and loved her son. There had been problems in the last few years of primary school, he was sometimes accused of bullying, but she knew now that it was only because he was special, as the strange visitor she'd had one day told her. Going to Durmstrang School had soon eased the problems, and again he'd been her big, beautiful son.

It was a shame that his wife had been such a disappointment for him, a sickly girl, who always looked miserable. Michelle wasn't surprised that her Harry seldom visited his wife. Instead, she honoured him for keeping her so well supplied with money. Rebecca never had any financial problems, though she didn't seem to have the spirit to move to a bigger house, or buy nicer furniture.

**x**

It was beginning to be a touch warmer again, and again Harry swam every day, though he was usually the only one, except for the surfers in their wetsuits.

The annual February trip by the English team with their spell-breaker didn't happen this year. Harry Potter was already there. The Americans were very pleased with themselves. They'd successfully poached the great wizard out from under the eyes of the British.

The Daily Prophet reported that the great wizard was continuing his valuable work of spell-breaking in America, and expressed the hope that he would be welcomed home when he returned in July. Draco thought it was time to start pushing. Every week or so, there would be a testimonial by someone whom Harry had cured, sometimes varied by reminders of breakthroughs in research, or his valuable inventions.

He tried not to go too far back in time, not wanting to draw attention to his continuing youthful appearance, a part of the reason he had provoked such hatred. There had always been an occasional powerful witch or wizard who lived a particularly long time, maybe one or two in a generation. Albus Dumbledore, for instance, had been a hundred and sixty when he died. Madam Crick a hundred and thirty-six. But neither Hermione nor Ben had pointed out to Harry that those others had always aged, just more slowly than normal. Harry Potter was not ageing, his maturity was only in mind and spirit.

He was continuing to look deep into his own mind, every day, when he meditated. He could see that silvery lake more clearly now, but had a conviction within him that it should be better protected. Whatever it was, it was too exposed.

One day, he visualised something else. It was not really a wall lying wrecked on the ground, but that's the way his mind chose to present it to his consciousness. He started wondering whether he could repair it. He didn't know what purpose it served, but this damage bothered him a lot more than that of the other old injury that had left him relying on a cane.

When he went home now, he always spent time with Caradoc. They would talk philosophy, pacing the perimeter track together as they walked. Others watched with respect, and kept away, though they were sometimes accompanied by a dog or two.

Even when their talk never touched on Dementors, it seemed that contact with Caradoc was helping Harry begin finally to accept that horrible thing that had been done to him, many times over. It was far, far worse than a physical rape. He wondered if he'd have Caradoc to help him during that terrible time when he'd been waiting, would it have been easier. With a shudder, he decided that nothing could possibly have made that easier.

**x**

Harry White was visiting his Mum. His Mum was the only one in the world who loved him without reservation. There were times when he spoke about the wizarding world in which he dwelled, although Michelle seldom understood everything he said. She never asked for clearer explanations. Harry wouldn't like that. One day, her Harry mentioned the great wizard, Harry Potter.

"Harry Potter?" queried his mother.

It had been explained to her that sometimes wizards were born to muggle families, that they just happened sometimes. She had never known that the attractive young man she'd known was a wizard, and there had been no reason to tell her Harry that he was not the son of herself and her husband. But she betrayed herself now.

Harry White turned on his mother. His revenge was terrible. Afterwards, there was no-one in the world who loved him.

**x**


	30. Chapter 30

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 30:_

Cissy sent to Harry to ask a favour. She wanted to show off her stallion at the big Easter horse show. The mares would not be shown, they were all heavy in foal, but 'Pickering Grey,' as they'd called him, should definitely be shown.

Harry was agreeable. He didn't think anyone had come close to recognising him the last time, and with the time difference, there'd be no problem going to the California Witches' Ball afterward, as Julie wanted.

Cissy and Chrissy had ensured that Harry's riding clothes waited for him, even with a spare set kept by Chrissy just in case he managed to lose them or get them dirty. Harry was filled with pleasure at joining the large group for the show. They looked so professional now. His horse boxes prominently painted 'The Barnes Brothers,' joined by Cissy's horsebox, 'Pickering Andalusian stud,' and also by the unmarked one of Ian Maguire.

Connor was riding Midnight, now on permanent loan to him, and 'Paint,' a son of Kintu and Pinto, to be ridden in the jumping. Simon and Beau had two horses each, Tamara and Kindred, and Elliott and Bob. The Wiley girls were not riding, but all the Wileys would be there, and so would Chris and Chrissy, although Hermione had declined.

The stallion was hard to handle, although Bill, his groom, was very experienced. Harry looked at the grey in sheer admiration. He was the most beautiful animal, more solid, and a little whiter than he'd been the previous year. He caressed the horse with familiarity, and the sometimes fierce animal bent his head and snorted to him. Horses always loved Harry. Bill was new, and had thought they were mad when Bridon told him the horse was entered in ridden classes.

Harry would have liked to hop on him, and have a play as he did with Mischief, but couldn't of course. He'd make himself far too conspicuous.

Connor was very busy and important, acting like a younger brother of the Barnes. They smiled on him, and helped him wherever they could. Eighty-year-old Jimmy Carr had not stopped giving him lessons just because Adrian was gone. Jimmy was becoming more irascible with age, but none of his pupils took it too seriously.

Reporters came over to talk to the Barnes as they prepared for the jumping.

Harry was just another groom, until Jimmy yelled at him to get a move on, as the stallion's first class would be soon. The stallion was already saddled, and Chrissy smartened Harry up a bit when he appeared in his riding clothes. The stallion plunged and bucked as Harry leapt easily onto his back, and Harry laughed with utmost pleasure.

Jimmy went to him. "Just do what the others do, and _try_ to sit up straight!"

Harry sat up straight, but Jimmy and Ian watched him in the ring. Within five minutes he'd slumped back into that casual slouch. But it was a show class, not a riding class, and the horse was displaying himself beautifully, his superb quality obvious. It looked like it was going to be another Grand Champion award.

The valuable animal was never to be left alone, Bill was to be with him constantly, except when Harry was available to give him some relief.

Harry and Ian watched by the ringside, as Connor took the jumps in his class. Paint was a bit taller than most of Pinto's foals, and was jumping well, Connor looking very professional riding him. "He'll do Connor for years if you'll sell him," commented Ian.

"How about an indefinite loan, like Midnight?" said Harry, who didn't like the idea of selling his horses.

Harry was interrupted, and roared at again, as he was late for his next class. He hurried back, using his cane as the ground sloped, and even then swaying perilously, but then an agile leap took him to the horse's back, and Jimmy fussed over the stirrups and reminded him again to sit up straight.

A reporter took his photograph as the beautiful horse cantered on the spot. Harry didn't notice. Cissy and Jimmy kept a closer watch on Harry after that, he'd almost missed that class.

It was an enjoyable and successful day, Connor glowing with pride at his success, and Simon thrilled with the performance of his young mare, Kindred. The photograph was only published in a specialist horse magazine, and not seen by anyone who knew Harry as a wizard.

An auror was at the show, purely by accident, but he only told Jebedee, describing how he watched after a class, as the stallion cavorted and bucked in a small open area, with his rider sitting casually and laughing. Harry didn't know the auror, and hadn't seen him. But Jebedee knew now that Harry could apparate again, and also it was confirmed that he could apparate between continents, something that Jebedee had suspected, but had never known for sure.

Gil was given firm orders to keep Harry's presence at the horse show very quiet. Jebedee himself never told anyone. He thought Harry was foolish to show himself where he could be so easily recognised. Harry thought he was foolish, too, but it was a great day.

**x**

He didn't help re-settle the horses. He still had to go to the California Witches' Ball. It was only the work of minutes to cast off his riding clothes, leaving them on the floor for someone else to worry about, and apparate back to California. It had felt like there was a great weight about his legs when he hadn't been able to apparate. He'd for so long had the freedom of the world, although he did run into problems sometimes when he forgot time differences.

The great wizard and his wife were special guests at the Ball. The Minister for Magic, Francis Olde, had sent a personal hand-written invitation, which had been a thrill for Julie, and a Ministry car was to pick them up. Jake and Lyn would be there, as would a fair portion of the area's wizard population.

Again Harry was fussed over. This time, emerald green dress robes were arranged around him, and Julie thought with pride how attractive he was. She touched his short hair. If only he'd let it grow long - it looked so impressive when it was long.

She'd been shown a Chocolate Frog Card the other day. The hobby of collecting Chocolate Frog Cards that showed famous witches and wizards had lasted hundreds of years now. Harry had been on them since he was eighteen, though he'd never been asked for permission, or consulted as to what was written about him. The current photograph was that one that showed him with long hair, as he prepared to fight the Dementors.

Julie loved that photo. She'd taken a long time to come to an acceptance that he was something special, but now she wanted everyone to know that he was special.

Harry had the same bodyguards as he had when he worked, Evie and Craig, plus two others. He didn't mind them, and they knew not to stay too close, in case he simply dumped them. He circulated, greeting friends, and putting up with important dignitaries whom he often found boring. But to his pleasure, a group of learned witches were present, one of their husbands tailing along, apparently there just to supply them with drinks whenever glasses were empty. Tristina Buckledove had published a recent book based on some very interesting research.

Harry had questions to ask, and an aspect of her research that he wished to explore further with her. He was fully involved, and looked around rather impatiently as Francis Olde tried to introduce him to the Canadian Minister for Magic. He saw Julie looking at him with a rebuke on her face, and tried to show a bit more politeness. He was notorious though, for not being present when the speeches started, and no-one was surprised at his disappearance.

He was not far away. White had managed to stun him surprisingly easily, in the back, of course, and then it was just a matter of a powerful 'Don't Notice Me' Charm as he carried the limp form straight past Paul and Garry, two of Harry's bodyguards, to an area far enough away from the activities that they would not be seen. Not many people could make that charm quite so effective, probably no-one, aside from Cissy, Harry and himself. A Silencing Spell, so that screams would not be heard.

White loved this. He had a helpless person at his mercy. It had always been women or girls before, but he wanted very much to humiliate the great wizard who threatened him with his presence, and who had turned out to be his father. White thought that no-one could undo his spells. He thought that his ropes would hold the wizard, especially without his wand, now on the ground next to him. He didn't know whether he wanted Harry to wake or not. A humiliation is not as satisfying if performed on an unknowing victim, on the other hand, the great wizard might be dangerous in possibly unexpected ways.

Harry was bent forward over a bit of furniture conjured for the occasion. Wrists and ankles were tied.

And then White commenced the act he'd been contemplating for a week, raising robes, baring a bottom, and inserting the narrow tip of his penis in the anus of the great wizard. It wasn't too hard at first. White leaned forward, pushing. It was very tight, very hard to push further.

A fierce grin of satisfaction showed on his face as he felt a sudden give, and a spurt of warm blood. He was using his erect penis as a weapon of pain, as he loved to do. Never in his life had he used it to give joy. He was caught up in the act, thrusting rhythmically, not hurrying, enjoying a new experience.

Harry woke, and didn't move, pushing the pain away from him while he assessed the situation. With an instant telepathic awareness, Harry already knew that this was family, more specifically, that it was Harry White, his own illegitimate son who had been allied with the Dementors. How could it happen that he be raped by his own son? Heartsick, indecisive, he made no move.

Unaware of Harry's return to consciousness, White finished what he was doing, remaining crouched over him for a moment, panting.

Then Harry coldly asked, "Finished?"

White froze, and slowly disengaged himself. Harry initiated a surge of magic that freed him from his bonds, at the same time rendering White powerless to take action. For the first time in his life, White had met a wizard more powerful than himself.

Slowly, Harry rearranged his clothing. He was still staring at White. This was his son! The pain of severe anal tearing disturbed him, and he looked into the distance as he magically repaired the physical damage to himself. What was he going to do? He knew White was an evil wizard, but was he going to have to kill his own son?

White was not cowed, and spoke tauntingly. "I enjoyed that! Haven't had a man before. Did it hurt?"

Harry just looked at him.

White continued. "Of course, I usually have little girls. They bleed too. And scream. I like that. Last week I did my mum. She died. Now I've done my dad. I think I'll go on to little boys next. I bet they scream. You have a young son, don't you?"

Harry glanced at the item of furniture that White had conjured to put him in a convenient position to rape. It vanished. Harry Potter had been used by Dementors. He was not distraught because of this comparatively minor intrusion, but there was no need to leave evidence.

White continued to taunt and threaten, possibly still not quite able to believe that he had met his match. "Your young son, now that'd be my brother, wouldn't it? He'll probably bleed even more than you are now!"

But Harry was no longer bleeding.

Harry was looking into White's mind, ignoring the trifling block that White seemed to be attempting. This was truly a monstrous man, who had done terrible things to many people, particularly to little children. Harry knew then what he was going to have to do, but he was still reluctant. His own son! But he'd killed Paulus Blake without a second thought, in order to save future victims. And it may be that he was the only one in the world capable of killing Harry White. He didn't think he could live with himself if he let White live, his own blood or not.

He spoke to White then, the pain obvious in his voice. "You were conceived in joy, raised with love. How could you have turned out like this?"

A different expression crossed White's face for a moment, and he answered, perfectly honestly, "I don't know." But then the taunt was back, "What are you going to do about it?"

Harry was already in his mind, and prepared to make the fatal magical squeeze that would kill Harry White, his own son. But White was a powerful wizard too, with telepathic ability of his own, and a courage and a will to survive that was as great as Harry's. He also had the advantage of having felt Harry try to kill him before, though from a long distance. Harry had been very weak and ill at the time, but all the same, he had nearly succeeded, and had believed himself to have succeeded. It's why White understood almost immediately what Harry was attempting, and defended himself very strongly. Not only did he defend himself, he attacked Harry in the same way.

Harry stumbled, surprised. No-one else had ever attempted anything like that! White was a very fast learner.

He gave his head a shake, and erected his own strong defences against another such attack. White had to die, so, seeking to distract him, he asked, "The rumours of Dementors. Was that you?"

"It was me," White answered. "The Dementors are gone for good - thanks to you - Father."

Harry made the killing attempt again, swift and very strong, and was again repulsed.

Giving up on surprise, Harry said, "I _am_ going to kill you. But I could make it easy for you if you let me."

Harry White was a very big and powerfully built man. Facing him, Harry Potter looked small and slight. But when the two men stood face to face, staring into each other, they did not appear mismatched.

White suddenly reached for his wand, resorting to more traditional means of attack, but Harry, without the slightest effort, sent it flying out of reach. And now he called uponall his great magic, which rose to meet the demand. In a way he had never had to do before, Harry Potter fought down White'sresistance, and finally pressed home the gentle mental squeeze that was the kill. White died, fighting to the last.

Harry bowed his head, tears in his eyes. Slowly, he knelt beside the body, and, with gentle magic, he closed the eyes, closed off the leaking sphincters of death, and cleaned the clothes and the body. He retrieved White's wand, and closed the fingers tightly around it, in the way wizards are traditionally prepared for burial.

A previously unseen witness spoke then. "Who was that?"

The witness was Garry, one of the bodyguards whose job had been to watch over Harry, who was such a valuable property.

"That was Harry White," said Harry, heavily. "An Australian wizard, very powerful, who allied himself with the Dementors. He was coordinating the mass attacks that they were making a few years back. I'm going to take him to his home."

"He called you father," said the auror, and suddenly noticing the blood that had bespattered the ground, and the pieces of rope lying abandoned, asked, "Are you hurt?"

Harry was not even listening to him. Instead he conjured paper, and made writing appear on it, a note to Julie that he was not in any trouble, but would be away for two or three days.

"Would you see this gets to my wife?" he asked the auror.

The auror took the note, and said rather doubtfully, "I don't know whether I should let you go. There'll be questions to answer. You killed a man."

Harry turned, raised a hand, and his wand, which had been lying a little distance off, flew to it. The wand was raised, and White's body vanished.

Harry turned briefly to the auror, and stated, "Incidentally, the rumours of Dementors were started by White. They have no foundation."

His cane was suddenly in his left hand, and he silently disapparated. The auror stared at the place he'd been, then more carefully inspected the evidence of rope and bloodstains that remained, without, however, coming to any firm conclusions. He had not been a witness to the rape, and had only seen the mental battle that had been waged between the two powerful wizards, and had been too much in awe of both of them to intervene.

It was daytime in Australia, and Harry knocked on the door of Rebecca White, the wife of his dead son. Rebecca stared in disbelief, and leaned down to touch the face of her dead husband. In a whisper, "Is he dead?"

"He's dead."

Rebecca's unbelieving eyes went to the wizard in emerald green robes who stood next to the limp form of her husband. In a calm voice she said, "You'd best bring him in, someone will see."

Harry used his magic to place the body of the big man on a bed. Rebecca timidly touched him, assuring herself again and again that he was truly dead.

Harry waited. Once he'd looked at the mind of White, as he should have done years before, he had not expected grief from his wife. He was blaming himself. This poor girl had suffered dreadfully. He should have done his duty. He should have executed White years ago.

And still he grieved for Harry White. It was his own son! He had had such talent, both telepathy and pure power. White could have been the one who fully replaced him as the world's spell-breaker. But there was that bad seed in him, that Harry thought came from himself.

It took some time before Rebecca was totally, fully convinced that her persecutor was dead. The crying began then, and Harry held her, as the tears pent up over years were released. It was maybe only a person who had suffered greatly that could have held her with such understanding.

Harry stayed at Roma for the next few days, though not at the house of Rebecca. He organised a death certificate through the wizarding community in Melbourne, which neatly avoided problems with muggle police. Harry White was buried by wizards. He wore his wizard robes and held his wand, as was appropriate for a powerful wizard. He left his widow wealthy.

Harry cured the eight Australian wizards and witches whom White had cursed. Most were straightforward. The Mahoney girl was not. Ropes conjured by White, and tightly bound around her wrists and ankles, years ago, had stayed, and the skin and blood vessels had grown over them instead, helped by spells from the mediwizards. It was better than having the limbs turn gangrenous as the girl grew with the years.

Harry didn't touch these until a specialist mediwizard was there to help, and then he went very carefully, sometimes almost strand by strand. The wrists and ankles were cured, and as requested, Beth arrived. This was her specialty, helping repair damage to the soul.

Finally, he went to Rebecca to take his leave. She reached out and touched his hand. "Thank you," she said.

Harry looked regretfully into her face. "I should have done it years ago," he said. "I _should_ have done. I'm so terribly sorry."

Rebecca said with courage, "None of us do what we should do, all the time."

As he turned to leave, she detained him. "Wait. There's a couple of things... Maybe you'll know what to do with them." She indicated a bureau. "They're in there, but he's locked it with his magic."

Harry easily, casually, unlocked the drawers with his own magic.

Rebecca opened one, unerringly.

Harry looked, disbelieving, and then stretched out a tentative hand. "It's my wand!" There was a wonder and a joy in his voice. It was like the return of his wand that had been lost in the Dementor stronghold, even more than the death of Harry White, the Dementors' ally, marked the end of this most difficult chapter of his life.

It was his _own _wand, not Beth's old wand, not a conjured piece of wood, or one that Jason had picked up for him. It was his own wand, that had been matched to him when he was eleven, and had just learned that he was a wizard. His own wand, that he'd done his first piece of deliberate magic with, _Wyngardium Leviosa. _It wasthe wand that he'd used against Voldemort. His own wand, that, when the time came, he should be buried with. He caressed it, feeling it, until he could fully believe it.

Rebecca watched him, smiling, wondering how her husband had come by the wand that obviously meant so much to this man. Harry gripped it hard a second, and a few sparks flew out the end. It acted of itself; Harry had not made those sparks. He put his wand carefully in the wand pocket of the dress robes that he'd put back on, cleaned, for the trip home.

There was a device that Jebedee had given him, too. A device that aurors used to call for help. Harry had forgotten all about that, but sent it back to Jebedee with a note to say that he'd found his wand. Jebedee was thrilled for Harry. Harry had scarcely mentioned his loss, but Jebedee knew what a loss it had been.

Beth and Jeremiah stayed in Australia three months. There were muggle girl children who'd been left wounded. They sought out these children, and Beth worked her magic of understanding and compassion. It was hard to believe that Harry White could have been Beth's brother. His evil had not come through Michelle Hathaway, or her family. Harry Potter may have been right when he'd told Ginny long ago that he thought he might carry a 'bad seed.'

It took twenty years for Rebecca White to think that she might like to try sex again. And then she looked at ads on the internet, and selected a man who admitted to having a particularly small penis. They were very happy together.

**x**

It was the middle of the night when Harry slipped into bed by the side of his wife. She stirred and turned to him.

Harry thought he'd best report to Buck in the morning, the headmaster, as he'd been away without notice. He apologised for his absence, and referred vaguely to family problems. Sullivan nodded casually, and sent a message to the Ministry, as instructed.

When Briony Williams, accompanied by two of her aurors, were directed to Harry's class, they found fifteen students and two professors in whoops of laughter. The lesson was Dragon Care, and the dragon was rolling on the floor, clutching its belly, and farting flame.

"What's the Potion?" asked Harry. And a moment later, "And how are you going to administer it?"

Miss Berry gave the correct answer, "From a very safe distance!"

Harry turned a questioning face to Briony at the door, who was trying to be serious. After all, this was almost an arrest!

Harry was still aware of his dragon, which sat up neatly in the corner, and tapped its claw slightly impatiently.

"A few questions," she managed sternly.

"After lessons?" Harry suggested.

Madam Williams said, "Now!"

The dragon gave a great sigh, and lay itself down, before fading gently away.

Harry had been expecting this. He thought it'd be all right - it was a duelling death, to his way of thinking. The only nuisance was that he'd have to admit, not only that he could apparate again, but could apparate to Australia. He was the great wizard. No-one would be able to keep him confined unless he chose, though they could certainly make life difficult.

He was subject to some stern questioning, which he put up with, was given a warning that executions would not be tolerated, even if he did pretend it was a duelling death, and told that if it happened again, serious questions would be asked.

Harry said, "Yes, Madam Williams, No, Madam Williams," obedient and meek, and they both knew perfectly well that Briony couldn't really stop him doing exactly as he pleased.

The following day, Francis Olde, the Minister for Magic, had a visit from Joe Longbottom, Australia's equivalent. After introduction, Olde called in Briony Williams. Joe had a few things to tell them about Harry White, his evil, his power, how Harry Potter had done an immense service to wizardry. Duelling was illegal in Australia, and it had not occurred to him that duelling deaths were normally unpunished in most of the world. He'd been worried that Harry Potter might be in trouble. They were able to assure him that he had not been arrested.

There had been ropes and blood, Briony remembered, and asked for further details of White's sadistic habits. And she wondered. But Harry couldn't have had anything like that happen to him, surely; he'd obviously been carefree the previous day. Briony remembered the dragon, and laughed to herself. And she'd liked his meek pose, too.

Joe would probably have wanted to give Harry Potter a prestigious award, except that the small Australian wizard community had never bothered with that sort of thing. Joe definitely wanted to take him down to the local pub, and shout him as many beers as he wanted, though, so Briony and Francis joined them.

Harry was happy, he was obviously forgiven. The part about White calling Harry his father was discreetly forgotten. He was not even asked for an explanation of ropes and splatters of blood.

Harry had repaired the damage that had been done by the evil wizard that was his son, as best he could. He knew that it would have been better if he'd killed him years before. But as Rebecca had said, none of us do what we should do, all the time. It was in the past. And Harry never had believed in troubling himself over what could not be helped. It was better to enjoy life, to play, remembering always that life may not last.

**x**


	31. Chapter 31

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 31:_

It was Harry's day off, and the beginning of April. Julie was out. It was a good time. He sat in his chair in his bedroom, eyes closed, concentrating, first seeing that silvery lake, and then seeing the wall that he visualised as lying in ruins. Using a touch of magic, Harry built up the wall. There was no literal truth in the wall, and no literal truth as he visualised the damage, and then repaired the damage. It didn't matter. The imagery was needed, the repair was real.

He had admitted to himself that this was where the Dementors had fed, and that what he visualised as a broken down wall, was probably the _braciage_ that the Dementor had referred to. It was odd that the physical rape of his body had been the catalyst that had helped him see clearly, so that he could make the repair.

He had thought it had taken little time. When he opened his eyes, he discovered that Julie had been creeping around for hours, trying not to disturb him. Julie didn't know what he was doing, often what her husband did was a long way beyond her understanding. But she respected him profoundly. She tried hard to support him in any way possible.

The repair, if he really had made a repair, made no obvious difference to his health or fitness. He still didn't really know what purpose that wall served, although he had begun to suspect that it might have something to do with that instinct for danger that had kept him alive so long. That instinct had never been infallible, and it had never left him entirely. He may have been twice poisoned since the Dementors, but both times, he had stopped before he took too much, even though the poisons were tasteless.

After the repair, he felt more whole. Things were as they should be.

There was that other damage, of course, and every day, as he struggled over the obstacle of the soft sand to get to the water, he was tempted to try again to do something about it. But there was a fear that he'd make it worse, and while he could stride easily along the hard sand for miles, and swim and ride horses, he knew that it might be very foolish to meddle.

**x**

He wanted to visit home again. He always loved the spring. Julie had been envious, but shrank back when he suggested that he could apparate with her. It was too far, and while she thought it all right for Harry, she was sure that she couldn't do it, even as a passenger.

Two foals had been born so far, the ones conceived when Mischief and Kintyre had gone wandering. Jimmy Carr had been very concerned about Mischief - the foal was too big, and there had been problems. They were both fine now, though.

When Harry arrived, Jimmy took him straight away to see the two foals with the mystery sire. Harry hugged his little horse, Mischief, until Kintyre nudged him from behind, knocking him over.

Harry, sprawled on the ground, only laughed as two horse heads, suddenly looking enormous, nuzzled him. Mischief's foal was a skewbald colt, although it appeared as if it might be a lighter colour than his mother. Kintyre's filly foal was brown.

Jimmy ran knowledgeable hands over the foals, and gave his opinion, that the sire might be a heavy horse, some sort of a draught horse, although probably not a Clydesdale. That they'd just have to wait and see how they turned out. Harry wasn't worried. A little variety was good.

In the distance, the indoor arena could be seen. It had been built by a firm of muggles, and then Cissy and Bridon had taken a hand. The roof had been pulled up into several peaks, from each of which gay flags flew. Harry loved it. He whistled up the closest horse, which happened to be Jack, and cantered over for a look, no bridle, no saddle, as always.

Inside Jack paced around, snorting, on the soft but firm surface. Several jumps had been erected. It looked very professional. If needed, and within a very short time, the jumps could be removed, and Quidditch hoops erected. There was talk of a Quidditch match, the employees against the family, just as soon as Harry and Julie returned.

It was at lunch that the very serious question was put to Harry, oddly enough, by Tracy, whose baby Harry had been playing with.

Harry smiled at her. "California's been great, but I don't think I could bear to stay away longer." The baby chortled, and reached for his glasses. Harry said, looking at the baby, "And besides, I couldn't possibly miss seeing you running around after Lillian, once she finds her feet and gets loose in that big kitchen!"

Several others were very pleased to hear this. They hadn't been quite game to ask. Even Caradoc, sitting quietly at the end, smiled in pleasure. When Harry came back, he was going to ask if he'd go with him to Diagon Alley. He needed to go to Ollivanders.

Will was sitting next to Hermione. Will thought that Hermione should have an escort when she walked any distance at all. Hermione thought it quite unnecessary, but would not hurt the feelings of the big man.

As instructed, Harry went to see Hermione in her office after the lunchtime gathering broke up, a lot later than usual. Hermione immediately took advantage of his genial mood, and told him that he was to do as he was told - he was to take off his shirt, and behave himself. Harry looked at his dear friend, and took off his shirt, and behaved himself. Hermione took a lot of time, making as thorough an examination as she'd done for many years. After a while, she told him he was allowed to put on his shirt again, but that she was not finished.

Healer Giles Breedon had written. He'd sent her one of the monitors that he'd developed, and copies of his results. He'd obviously been doing some investigating, and knew that the old lady was still the healer whom Harry Potter trusted above all others. He knew that he, himself, had forfeited any hope of a similar confidence.

She worked very carefully and precisely, choosing the spots where the sensor was put, and sometimes telling him to think of certain things. Harry recognised Breedon's monitor, but said nothing to interrupt her concentration. She was old now, but Healer Granger had been a renowned mediwizard, more so than Healers Breedon and Davies. Her books had been part of their training.

Hermione didn't need to mix a Docility Potion in his food for Harry to cooperate with her. It would be nice to throw away his cane, and maybe not tremble as much. And maybe not fall to the ground just because of a gentle nudge from a friendly horse.

She finally finished, and told him to go away, and come back in an hour. Harry got up to go, only mentioning that he thought he'd fixed the Dementor damage, that it might look different from when Breedon had done his tests. Hermione gave him a piercing look, but again just told him to go away for a while.

So Harry went and consulted with Jimmy. Which of the young horses would be most suitable for his personal use. It tended to be a bit of a problem these days. He wanted a tall, fast horse, that was athletic, and could jump, and might like to play with him. But these were the horses that Simon and Beau were interested in.

But Jimmy knew just the one, and pointed Harry to a glossy black gelding.

Harry said in surprise, "I thought Simon had claimed that one," and he ducked under the fence, and went to him. The beautiful horse looked at him alertly. Harry knew all the horses on his place, even though he'd only been home a few times since the previous September.

Jimmy said, "He was originally called Kildare, but now everyone calls him the mad black. He wouldn't behave for Simon. He's already suggested that he's just the horse for you."

Harry asked, "He's been ridden then?"

"Oh, yes," Jimmy assured him, adding, "Though sometimes for very brief periods."

Harry fussed over the horse. Jimmy watched him, leaning over the fence. He said, "His dam was Kyneton, out of Clarice. His sire has a reputation for being wild. We only used him that one year."

Jimmy wasn't the slightest bit surprised when Harry took a casual hold of the mane, and leapt onto the horse's back. The mad black snorted, pawed the ground, and then paced gently, beautifully, around the paddock before the gate opened for Harry, and he took the horse, fast, galloping the perimeter track.

Beau, at work close by, turned to watch.

Harry flattened himself on the back of the speedy horse, laughing in pleasure as he galloped. This was a fast horse, and Harry always adored going fast.

Simon was inside, working on some of Harry's paperwork. Beau gave him a call, and Simon, too, came out to watch. Harry gave the horse a suggestion, and the mad black stopped, tossed his head, and started trotting, feet high, neck arched, before beginning to play buckjumper, exactly what Harry adored.

Jimmy shook his head. Harry needed help if the ground was sloping, or stony or slippery. It was a continuing mystery how he could stay so easily on the back of a bucking horse.

Simon and Beau grinned at each other. They'd reckoned the mad black would suit their mad boss.

Harry slipped off, and hugged the horse. "Kildare. _Not_ the mad black."

The horse blew in his face, and Harry planted a kiss on his forehead. "You're not mad, are you?"

He consulted his watch. Not time to go back to Hermione, yet. Instead, he conjured a piece of rope to attach to Kildare's halter, in case he was seen by muggles, and said that he was just going over to see Bridon, and Cissy if she was there.

Neither Bridon nor Cissy were there, but Bill and a couple of workers were, and turned to see the rider who sat so casually on the bare back of a curvetting, prancing horse. Two Grand Championships had made 'Pickering Grey' a popular sire in the district, and Bill smiled as he told Harry how much he was enjoying his work.

Harry went to say hello. The horse had developed a real presence, knowing how much he was valued, and having what must be about the best job in the world. Cissy's mares hadn't foaled yet, but other mares were visiting, several of them with foals at foot. Harry was enjoying himself, and forgot about Hermione.

Hermione was not in a hurry for him to come back. She'd finished noting results, and had carefully compared them with the results of Healer Breedon. Now she was just sitting in a comfortable chair, staring into the distance, and thinking.

She was interrupted by old Sophey Wiley, coming for her potion for her aches and pains, and then Sophey wanted to talk a while.

The interruption seemed to help Hermione make up her mind. She knew now what she would recommend to her friend. It would have to be in America, unless he was willing to wait until his year's teaching was finished. But Giles Breedon was an expert, and would help. She thought that Harry, himself, should do the actual work. There was scarcely a scar left from the Dementor damage that she could see on Giles' results but not her own.

The other damage was seen a lot more clearly now, with the improved monitor that Giles had developed. She wondered why Harry had not continued with him. For some reason, he seemed to have consulted him.

Harry finally returned, expecting a rebuke. He'd been away over two hours. But Hermione was all business, spreading lists of figures, and several pictures out for him to study. She pointed out the difference between Breedon's results, and her own, where the Dementor damage had been.

Hermione was very interested in that, and she quizzed him closely, when she saw that he no longer shrank from discussion of the subject. He even told his old friend what he'd done, how he'd visualised the damage, and then repaired it.

"It won't be published while you live," she reminded him, "But I'd like to write about it, and use Giles' results if he gives permission.

Harry nodded. "He'll probably give permission."

Hermione looked at him piercingly, "I'm surprised you consented to be examined."

Harry asked, "What did he say about that?"

Hermione answered that he'd been very vague, but as she knew Harry, she thought that maybe he'd had to use a Docility Potion!

Harry grinned sheepishly, "Got it in one!"

Hermione was stunned. "He didn't!"

Harry told her the story then, and Hermione said that it was a shame, Giles Breedon was the best.

Without saying anything more for a while, she got up, and started preparing them both a cup of coffee. She poked her head out the door, seeing Will close, as he so often was, and asked him to go to the kitchen, and ask for some afternoon tea for Harry and himself. Will smiled all over his face, and hurried off. He loved to be useful.

Hermione wasn't ready to talk about her recommendations yet, and asked Harry instead if he'd chosen a suitable horse. There was no-one better than Giles Breedon, except for herself, she thought, without false modesty, and she doubted if she was up to the extended session that might be required. But Harry may not be willing to accept the help of a man who'd stunned and then drugged him, even with relatively benign intent.

Hermione had on a polite, listening face, as Harry enthusiastically declaimed the merits of Kildare, formerly known as 'the mad black.' Harry wasn't fooled for long, it was very hard to fool Harry, but he continued to talk about indifferent subjects until Hermione put down her coffee mug with a decisive move, and looked at him.

Harry waited. It seemed he was to go back to Giles Breedon, no matter what he'd done, but that Ben would go with him, someone whom he trusted. He was to go into deep meditation, as he could do, but stay aware of Breedon, who would tell him how he was doing. Then, he was to gently, slowly, repair the damage that was now shown so clearly with the help of Breedon's newly developed monitor. No-one else would have been able to do such a thing, but Hermione thought that Harry could do it. Harry thought he could do it, too. But he didn't know that he wanted the help of Breedon.

"Breedon might not be willing," he remarked. "I gave him an awful scare, and then a nasty bellyache."

Hermione said with acerbity, "Well, if you can forgive him, he should definitely be able to forgive you!"

Harry was silent.

Hermione looked at him, and said severely, "I'll arrange it and let you know."

Harry knew himself. One of these days, he was going to attempt to repair that damage that he could now visualise so clearly. It might be better to do it with help. He rose. "Whatever you say," and then he kissed the old lady, and went to talk to Mischief and Kildare one more time.

He said to Jimmy he'd have to visit more often now that he had such a good horse to ride.

Caradoc watched from a distance. He had a Border Collie at his heels, a lot like Tammy. He talked to people more these days, but tended to vanish if strangers were about. He had not yet exposed himself to crowds, although he'd twice gone with Chrissy to the local village.

_ **x**_

Two weeks later, Harry did his spell-breaking stint as usual, except on a Thursday instead of a Friday. It had been decided that straight afterward would be a good time to attempt to repair the brain damage, and it was close to Harry's home in case he was dizzy afterward. The Ministry car would wait for him. Briony knew what was to be attempted, and Evie and Craig would also wait.

Ben Weasley had seen Harry work before, many times, and had seen him use the strong magic before. It was needed three times that day, as there was a contingent of twelve Europeans whom Madam Diefenberger had not been able to cure.

Giles Breedon had never felt that feeling in the air, and had wanted to run. But the others were obviously accustomed to it, and even the patient was waiting perfectly calmly. He took hold of his courage and endured.

Breedon had already had to battle with himself. When Healer Granger had put the proposition to him, it had been a toss up whether fear of Harry, or scientific curiosity combined with a genuine desire to help, would win. But the great wizard had not been frightening when they met, only saying lightly that neither of them had really been harmed, and thanking him for his help. Breedon knew that he'd been let off very lightly, and still marvelled at himself that he'd been so blindly stupid as to act the way he had.

It was time, but Harry wasn't nervous. He knew what he was going to do. Mostly he would use his own awareness of himself, and Breedon could help him by continuous monitoring, giving him feedback. When he had made that other repair, it had seemed subjectively like a short time, but nearly five hours had passed. It could take a long time.

Breedon set up his monitor, entirely professional now, and in teaching mode, explaining to Ben and to Callum what he was doing. First he demonstrated the area where there had been damage that had been fixed, explaining that it had been caused by Dementors, probably the first time one had fed from Mr. Potter.

Ben looked at Harry, concerned. No-one had ever dared to talk about that use of him so casually, and in such graphic terms. It never occurred to Breedon that Harry might be upset by what he said. Giles Breedon was not a sensitive man.

Harry, however, was unmoved, though he hadn't been when Breedon had mentioned it just a few months before.

Then Breedon moved on to the area that Harry was going to attempt to repair.

"Normally," Breedon said, still teaching, "The mediwizard would use healing spells, but Mr. Potter has unusual abilities, and is going to feel that area, and use his own magic to make the repairs, as he has done to the first area. This is much older damage, over twenty-five years old. At the same time, it is more simple damage, and should have easily observable results - an improvement in balance, better coordination of fingers, and a decrease in attacks of trembling."

Both Callum and Ben listened carefully, following every word, though Ben reminded himself not to trust Breedon. Hermione had told him what he'd done. Ben, like Hermione, had been astounded. How had he dared!

Breedon adjusted the sensor to the best position possible, watching the monitor in his hand all the time. Harry was using him, seeing what Breedon saw. Giles had not objected when he asked, although he possibly hadn't realised that Harry would be so much aware of his consciousness.

"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Potter."

Callum and Ben watched sometimes the monitor, and sometimes Harry, as he looked into the distance, concentrating.

After a time, Harry closed his eyes. He was looking, searching. He could see the damage in his mind, and he could see the damage that the monitor showed. A small portion of an old blood clot was removed.

Giles indicated to Ben and Callum what had happened, and said in a healers' voice, "That's good, Harry."

The voice was automatic, the condescension habitual. It was too important for Harry to be annoyed, and he just continued with what he was doing. He still saw what Breedon saw, and it was an undeniable help. Piece by careful piece, the damage was being repaired.

"It's very, very good," said Breedon. According to the monitor, at least half the damage was repaired. Harry was looking carefully, cautiously, at what he should do next, his body totally relaxed in the comfortable chair that he'd conjured for himself. It was always easiest to concentrate in one of his own chairs.

He'd used chairs exactly like this for around seventy-four years. There was still one in the Gryffindor common room. A prefect was about to be dumped on the floor as it vanished beneath him. Even Harry's conjures didn't last forever.

He started to touch the next portion of damage, exploring. A surge of alarm stopped him, and he knew with every fibre of his being that he should not touch that, that he should not do any more.

"Keep going, Harry, You're doing wonderfully," said Giles Breedon.

It always took a little while for Harry to come back to himself after deep concentration. It had been two hours. His body still relaxed in the chair. Breedon waited for the next step in the process.

Harry opened his eyes. "That's enough," he said. "I think it might be dangerous to do any more."

Breedon was disappointed. "I could use a healing spell, if you're tired," he suggested. "I can see exactly what needs doing."

"No," Harry said, and Ben moved closer, just in case Breedon was tempted to go against Harry's wishes.

Breedon flashed a glance at Ben, he hadn't missed the threat implicit in his move. "I wouldn't do anything you don't agree to," he said, indignantly.

Harry's mouth quirked. "Of course not!"

He put his hand up to the sensor taped to his forehead.

But Breedon objected. "No, no, no. You have to leave that. I need final readings."

So Harry waited patiently as Breedon made notes, took readings, and had what he called his Breedon Chyto-monitor make a couple of pictures as a permanent record. Then finally, a touch reluctantly, he removed the sensor. "It was brilliant," he was saying, not using his healer's voice. There was no condescension now. "As soon as you're comfortable with the idea, we should do the rest of it. You could be perfectly, totally fit again."

Harry grinned, "I'd like that - I'd like to try surfing," and he started to get up, Ben going to his left side, and warning him that Hermione had said he might be a bit dizzy for a few hours.

Harry stood, but swaying, grabbing his chair, and trying to balance, before staggering uncontrollably to the right, and falling.

He tried again, struggling to get up, and falling again, even when Ben tried to hold him. He stood finally, held by Callum on one side, and Ben on the other. He was looking at Ben in dismay. "I can't walk!"

Giles Breedon was also upset. "Maybe it's just temporary," he suggested.

Harry said fervently, "I hope so." And he asked his helpers to help him to a chair. This time, he pulled out his wand, and conjured two three pronged sticks to help himself. One in each hand, he tried again to stand. He managed a couple of steps, and crashed to the floor, this time falling backward.

He lay there a moment, taking a deep breath, and when they helped him back into a chair, his face was calm, expressionless.

As previously arranged, Ben was staying with Julie and Harry for a few days, and he helped Harry, as he tried and tried to overcome the problem with his balance, and walk. Harry wondered why on earth he'd meddled, when he'd been able to do so much, and now he could not walk, and would not be able to ride. He still had fits of trembling, no better, no worse - but his handwriting had improved dramatically.

The Ministry was taking a close interest, and Craig arrived at his house with a wheelchair on the second day after the repair. Harry showed no expression, just thanking Craig with calm courtesy.

Afterward, though, he took himself again to the flat area that he was using to try and walk, and made renewed determined attempts. He _should _be able to walk. There was no _reason_ why he wasn't able to walk.

He had bruises all over him now, from repeated falls, and still he struggled with two three-pronged walking sticks. Ben and Julie almost had to force him to give up that day. He'd struggled for hours, sure that if he only tried just a little harder...

He always used an area out of easy sight behind the house, and away from the school, but students wandered all over the grounds, and he'd been seen as he struggled to overcome the problem with his balance. Rumours were all over the school, and his students were not surprised when he arrived at class on Monday, sitting in a wheelchair. The wheelchair supplied by the Ministry could rise from the ground a little, to skate above soft or rough ground. It could not go up and down stairs, but Harry had long ago learned to apparate complete with wheelchair, although students and teachers gaped when they first saw the feat. And, of course, the whole school was supposed to be protected with anti-apparation magic. No-one commented, either about the apparation or about his loss of ability to walk.

Callum and Breedon came to his house to do follow-up measurements and make notes of the incapacity he now suffered. There were now handholds all around the walls, and even when Ben treated his bruises daily, there were always new ones.

Breedon tried to apologise, as Ben had, but Harry brushed it off. It was his own fault, he'd obviously done something wrong. But no matter how he searched within himself, he didn't know what he'd done wrong.

Ben left on Tuesday. He'd already stayed days longer than expected, and Hilde had been inconvenienced. Ben was as upset as Harry, possibly more so.

Harry had suffered bitterly, terribly, over the past few years. In comparison, being again confined to a wheelchair was trivial, although he felt an acute regret when he thought of the wonderful new horse that he might not, now, be able to ride. It seemed that he had almost no sense of balance left at all, though he could still sit without falling, mostly. It was easier if there were arms on the chair.

But he was alive, and he could probably still swim. Wednesday, after lessons, he made the gate open, and his wheelchair skated above the ground to where the sand began. He'd modified it, so that it appeared to have an engine, and controls. His muggle friends didn't know about magic.

No-one was in sight. With a sigh of relief, Harry apparated himself straight into the water, deep enough that he could swim. His arms and legs were as strong as ever. He could still swim - easily, confidently. He felt a surge of happiness as he swam. It was all right, he could live with this.

Four of his muggle friends were less optimistic. Ben, Seth, Joe and Sandy arrived for their surfing, surprised to see a wheelchair sitting next to the gate where Harry always appeared. Seth pointed to the dark head in the water, and they knew it was Harry.

Harry was less happy to see them, although he'd known that they were likely to be here. Almost every day, they were here. Somehow, he was not quite mature enough to bear with equanimity the prospect of being seen crawling back to his wheelchair.

But Ben looked at the wheelchair that waited. Harry's friends, making nothing of it, lifted him to his feet, and gave him as much support as needed, sitting him down again where they'd dropped their towels and surfboards. They were full of questions, but didn't ask, and Harry explained, lying just a little, "Tried to fix the old problem with some laser surgery, but it's backfired. I'm still strong, I just can't balance enough to walk."

They were silent a while, not knowing what to say. Harry glanced at the averted faces, and pointed out to sea, "Is that a dolphin?" And Ben and Seth, Joe and Sandy talked with Harry about dolphins.

Every day, he swam. He taught with as much energy and enthusiasm as ever. Every Friday, he broke spells, and as soon as he felt he could face it, he visited home, patting his horses from his wheelchair. He didn't even try to ride. He knew he'd just fall straight off. It used to be that he'd always fall to the left. He no longer discriminated. These days, he fell any way.

He apologised to Hermione, who had stared at him in the wheelchair, and looked away, her eyes pricking with tears. It wasn't so bad, he told her. Maybe it'd just be temporary.

It wasn't so bad, Harry thought, but every day, he struggled still to walk, refusing to give up. And every evening, Julie would dab his bruises with a pink lotion that took away the pain and discolouration.

After a month, Giles Breedon visited again, wanting to do his readings again, and quizzed Harry about exactly what he could and couldn't do. He admitted that he didn't know what had happened. It didn't stop him sending a very large account for consulting fees.

Draco Malfoy thought it was a gift. He was still bent on transforming Harry's image from monster to the benign figure of 'Our Harry.' Harry looked in resentment at the photographer who took several pictures of him on the second Friday after the attempted cure, tempted to vanish his camera, or at least the film.

Draco carefully selected the picture in which he looked least annoyed, and it appeared in the Daily Prophet. There was a reminder, too, that Harry could no longer apparate. It made not the slightest difference to Draco that he'd heard that he now apparated routinely. He was to appear as helpless and non-threatening as possible. The story was sadly sympathetic.

Malfoy was undecided whether to remind people that Harry had spent many months in a wheelchair before. The problem was that it had been many years ago, and he still looked so young. Draco was still avoiding reminding anyone that Harry Potter was not ageing. In the end, he only made a vague reference to previous illnesses. It had been an effective campaign. Draco hoped that Harry would have to use a wheelchair for at least a few years. It was hard to think of a cripple in a wheelchair as a fearsome monster.

**x**


	32. Chapter 32

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 32__: _

At the end of May, Harry was overjoyed to get a letter from Euan Abercrombie, headmaster of Hogwarts. He was wanted to teach there again, on the same terms as he'd done before, and was doing at Zefron. Julie smiled at his pleasure before opening another letter.

She read it, and slowly read it again. And then she looked at Harry who had felt her upset, and was waiting.

"I have to go to Mum and Dad's for a while," she said. "Probably at least two weeks, by the sound of things. Mum's sick, and you know how useless Dad is." And she got up, and started to pack. "Don't you dare try and drive," she cautioned, "Adrian will just have to take the bus to school." She kissed him.

Harry was sitting bereft. He hated doing without his wife. She paused, looking back, and then came back, and leaned over him, kissing him again. "Go with other women, if you like, while I'm gone. I think I'm grown up enough now to bear it." Harry wasn't sure that he was grown up enough to bear doing without his Julie.

Usually, on a Saturday, Harry would have Julie and Adrian at the beach with him, at least for a time. Seth commented on Julie's absence, and Harry didn't conceal that she was missed. Even Adrian was staying at Thea's place for the weekend, though he still had Tammy. It was obvious that Harry needed cheering up, and Ben and Seth put their minds to it.

They wondered how Harry managed alone, unable to stand by himself, or walk. But Harry's problem was only a lack of balance, not a lack of coordination or strength. All around his home were rails to hold onto, and he could conjure more, instantly and effortlessly, wherever they were needed. Meals, as they had been all along, were provided by the school, appearing magically on the table when required. He had to treat his own bruises, and some of them were in places awkward to reach, but he mostly managed.

Harry agreed that he needed cheering up, and the young muggles were very good at helping him without embarrassing him. It would actually be not much worse than usual, he thought - he'd been totally hopeless anyway, last time they'd gone sailing.

The following Saturday, Harry waited in his chair, at the main gate of the school. Adrian, a couple of first years students beside him, watched as Ben, Joe and Seth picked him up, using a little van belonging to Seth's father. Harry was introduced to Penny and Clara.

He smiled at the girls, suddenly and unconsciously radiating a sexuality that had them staring at him, wanting. He'd been over a week without Julie, and as Julie knew, he found it almost impossible to do without sex for very long. They seemed to be no-one's girlfriends in particular, and Clara promptly sat very close to Harry, as he pulled himself into the van, taking himself one handhold to the next.

Seth folded the stock standard muggle wheelchair procured for the occasion, and stowed it between two seats. Seth smiled on Clara and Harry. It seemed that Harry was to be cheered up in more ways than one.

Harry didn't mind in the slightest. He'd had worse times, but it was still a loss to be no longer able to walk.

It turned out not to be a sailboat that the boys had hired for the occasion. Instead it was a reasonable sized motor launch. The boys had let Harry pay half, although not more.

Two hours later, they were moored in a shallow spot next to an island that was little more than a sandbar, and swimming. Harry no longer looked to be crippled, except when he moved so cautiously around the boat, always grasping a handhold on either side. There was some quiet manoeuvring, and Harry and Clara were left together on the boat.

It was easy enough for Harry to get down into the little cabin, and Clara found that his lack of balance was not the slightest problem when they made love. It was a laughing, happy occasion, not a serious occasion. They stroked and fondled and laughed, and explored each other's bodies, and laughed.

But when Harry tried to get himself back up the little ladder, there were not enough handholds, and he fell down again, on the floor. Clara was anxious for a moment, but he only held up his hands to her, and she leapt down lightly, and again they made love.

Penny and Joe made sure to make a lot of noise as they returned, finding them both, perfectly dignified, and wearing swimmers again.

Harry was still in the little cabin, but with Joe's help, was able to get up and out, though falling as he reached for the seat. To the muggles, he seemed so brave, but they disguised their pity, and Harry was only bent on having a good time. He was drinking more than usual, though - quite a lot more than usual.

They all adjourned to the island after Joe and Penny organised lunch. Clara and Seth were left to wash up, and tidy. Seth was tickled pink when Clara giggled and blushed, and admitted that she thought his teacher friend was divine - and awfully good in bed. Clara whispered in his ear, and Seth grinned.

Harry was having trouble on the island. There were no handholds to help him about, and crawling was not exactly dignified.

Ben came and sat beside him, plying him with drinks, and talking about a career. It was time for all of the boys to decide what they wanted to do with their lives, although the girls were already in training for their chosen careers.

The afternoon was wearing on. They talked and laughed, and there was some more planning. The boys got up and announced they were going fishing.

Harry looked up, expecting a hand back to the boat, but Penny sat beside him, and stated that they were to babysit, that she and Clara would look after him. A large blanket was spread, and even pillows brought from the boat, only one of which fell in the water. Harry quietly vanished the sand that had got onto the blanket in spite of their care.

And then both Penny and Clara started looking after him. He was instructed to lie face down, he needed more sunscreen. Penny sat on his legs, massaging oil into his back, admiring his physique. It was such a shame he was a cripple. They started quizzing him about the various scars he bore. There was the long, slanting one down his back. And they had to take off his swimmers, to make sure that it ended where they thought it did.

Harry was laughing with them, half drunk, and lapping up the attention. A knife wound, he said casually, and the same for another on his back, much fainter. There was yet another scar from a knife on his front, just below his rib cage. But they were distracted a while when they got to that part. And when they asked about the scars on his face, it was in quieter, contented tones, and after a while, they both dozed.

Harry smiled at the sleeping children who'd given him pleasure, and continued to drink. He was thoroughly drunk now, but needed to go to the toilet. He got up, walked to the other end of the island, and was half way back before he realised he'd just walked, without the slightest trouble.

As soon as he thought about it, he lost his balance and fell, but stared at the sky. He was very drunk, but he was sure that he'd definitely walked.

He tried again, but it was the same as it always was. He could barely raise himself, then swayed, and then fell.

Penny had woken, and just watched him. Harry had temporarily forgotten their existence, shutting his eyes, and trying to concentrate. Why had be been able to walk then, when for the last six weeks, he'd tried and tried, and failed?

It was something like twenty-five years that he'd needed a cane, since a berserk ex-pumpkin-head had nearly killed him. Maybe he just had to pretend he was thirty again.

Harry lay in the sunshine, and pretended very hard that he was thirty again. He was with his own Ginny, and she was calling him.

Keeping his eyes shut, he rose to his feet, and walked toward where he imagined Ginny was. Six steps on, the illusion was lost, and he reeled to the right. But he was smiling. There was, after all, not that big a problem. It was just that for so long, he'd been correcting for a strong list to the left, and now that was almost gone, and his body was confused.

And when Penny came to him, he smiled at her. "I'm going to be able to walk again," he told her. "I've just been going about it the wrong way."

They rejoiced with him, and they laughed, and when the boys came back, they started to sing.

Seth took care to stay sober, as he was driving, and Joe wasn't too bad, but when the door of the van was pulled back just in front of the main gate of Zefron, the two security guards, Alec and Quita, heard some very poor singing, with Harry the loudest. Joe hopped down to help Harry, but Quita came to help, and then called Alec.

Harry was grinning ear to ear, one girl clasped to his side, another on his knee.

"We cheered him up," Seth told Alec, and Alec looked at Harry, and agreed that he certainly looked cheered up. Seth and Joe wanted to take him back to his home, he was obviously too drunk to look after himself, but Alec apologised, saying that it wasn't allowed.

The muggles were looking curiously toward the school, but sight was obscured with a barrier of thick greenery.

Alec said not to worry, that they'd look after Harry, and as Harry caught sight of the security guards and greeted them joyfully as long lost friends, the muggles decided that they could probably be trusted to look after their friend.

He went sprawling as they tried to get him out of the van, and he almost had to be hauled bodily up into the wheelchair. He had a sudden attack of apparent sobriety then, and told Quita that he wasn't going to need a wheelchair for much longer - he'd just been going about things the wrong way.

Help was whistled up by Alec to keep an eye on the gate, and Harry was firmly told to stop using magic on his chair. That Alex would look after the job of moving it. They hoped he hadn't used his magic so casually in front of the muggles.

So Harry started telling Alec about Kildare instead, twisting around in his chair, as he made wide gestures describing his beauty and the wonderful way he liked to buck and play. But then he toppled straight forward out of his chair, and had to be hauled back in again.

An audience of students gathered, staring at Professor Potter making a fool of himself. But Professor Roche sent them away, and himself came to help. Tammy came out to greet him, wagging her tail, but slowly, confused.

They put him to bed, Adrian watching open-mouthed. He'd never in his life, seen his father drunk like this. Harry needed to go to the toilet in the night, got up, walked perfectly steadily to the toilet, put himself back to bed, and went to sleep, forgetting the incident entirely.

The day after, Julie came back, and Harry no longer needed cheering up. He had his own wife, and she resumed the nightly chore of treating his bruises, occasionally varied with scratches and cuts, once even by a broken arm, but the school nurse took care of that.

His balance problem was not miraculously resolved, but now he knew the trouble, he started to be able to defeat it. Sometimes he managed to walk twenty feet, sometimes, after only a few steps, he'd fall again. He stopped trying to walk with sticks, as they were only a reminder to his body and to his mind that there was a problem. He needed to forget that he couldn't walk, and as long as he could hold that forgetting, he could walk. The falls tended to come suddenly, and Tammy became very good at scooting out of the way when needed.

In public, he always used the wheelchair. He could sometimes walk, but the loss of ability would come apparently without warning, and then he'd fall, often quite unable to pick himself up again.

**x**

The Potters' time at Zefron was coming to an end. They'd made a lot of friends at Zefron, and even though a few had been disapproving when Harry had been returned, rollicking drunk, by a group of muggles, they didn't want him to leave. Adrian had been introduced to Quidditch by a couple of the boys, and Julie had had a wonderful time. Harry probably never knew just how deprived Julie had felt in those years when it became too hard to socialise.

These days, in the morning, when Harry went swimming, he'd firmly fix in his mind that he was thirty, and try to walk without a falter from his house to the gate. Sometimes he'd do it, sometimes he'd fall. There were mostly a few spectators, whom he tried to ignore.

His progress was followed, and most of the school body seemed to know from day to day, how he'd managed. They were barracking for him, but Harry wished they wouldn't watch. There was one day that it seemed he couldn't walk at all, so that he gave up, and conjured an instant railing that he could follow to the gate, forgetting again to use his wand, and that aroused a lot of comment, too.

It hurt less to fall on the sand, and his muggle friends knew to wait. He'd call if he wanted help. More often than not, he'd close his eyes, concentrate on being thirty, and walk without a falter straight across the soft sand into the sea. But some days he couldn't do it at all, and then, unless Ben and the others were there to help, it would be either an undignified crawl, or a discreet apparation.

Cissy had to do without Harry's help to show off the stallion in the June show. Bill showed him in the led classes instead. He was better behaved now, and condescended to be led, only indicating rather too obviously his readiness to serve any mares that he passed.

Jebedee, out of curiosity, had gone to watch the show, wondering if Harry would show up. But while Jebedee said hello to the Barnes brothers, and others whom he knew, Harry wasn't there. They were able to confirm that he was definitely planning on returning, though. They even knew that he was to teach at Hogwarts.

A couple of days before Harry left, he begged the use of a broomstick, got out of his chair, quite easily, hopped on the broom, shut his eyes, and flew it as near as he could judge, straight across the Quidditch pitch, low to the ground, of course, for safety. It appeared the tendency to veer to the left was still there after all, but reduced to only about fifteen degrees, the same as he'd had since he defeated Voldemort.

He did it three more times, with almost the same degree of error. Then the fourth time, suddenly, he could no longer either ride the broomstick, walk, or stand. Life was like that for Harry, these days.

The error seemed to be consistent again, and he might be able to correct for it when he apparated to coordinates, as he'd learned to, quite easily, after the defeat of Voldemort.

The last two weeks. Farewells from the teachers, students and staff, a party for him at Seth's place, where he was very friendly, but said to Penny and Clara that while they were beautiful, his wife was the most beautiful of all. When she was near, he needed no other. They gave him showy, smacking kisses, and played with boys more their own age, instead.

It was strange that his muggle friends never wondered much about his past. They accepted him as he presented himself, assuming, however, that he might be older than he looked. Knife scars on his body were indicative of a colourful past, but they knew he was a teacher, especially as they saw groups of well supervised students from the school now and then on the beach. He'd been with them sometimes, and the students addressed him, with familiarity, as Professor Potter.

There was a round of parties that Julie dragged him to, even though he was still in a wheelchair. To his amazement, Briony Williams gave him a kiss, and said that he'd be missed. He smiled at her and said that he liked America, they weren't frightened of monsters.

Julie had made numerous purchases over the year. Harry did the rounds, tapping his wand to all the new possessions, and sending them home. His own wand. He still found it hard to believe sometimes that he had it back.

Julie and Adrian, with his owl, were to go by muggle transport, while Harry was to take Tammy with him while he apparated. It was easier that way. The wheelchair was left behind, to be returned to the Ministry with thanks. Harry had his own wheelchair at home, but very much hoped that it would not be needed in two months' time when he started teaching at Hogwarts.

There was a welcoming committee to meet him, as he appeared in the apparation zone of his own home, Tammy held securely in his arms.

**x**

Adrian and Connor were ecstatic to be together again, and seemed to be seldom apart, those first few days. At nights, either Adrian was at Connor's place, or Connor was at Adrian's place.

Ian was saddened to see that Harry's wheelchair was seldom far away, although at home, he tried to do without it. If he fell, and couldn't get up, he'd call the wheelchair to him with magic, and lever himself back into it, usually conjuring an instant post for a higher handhold. A lot harder, of course, if there were muggles about.

Sometimes, he seemed to lose the ability to balance for hours at a time. Sometimes, he'd just fall, pick himself up, and he'd be fine again.

The first day home at home, he tried riding, finding that he had a lesser tendency to revert to no balance when riding than when walking. After that, he rode constantly, expecting and tolerating bruises. Hermione was there if he collected anything worse.

Tammy was overjoyed to find herself at home, but when she mated, it was with a terrier cross belonging to Astron, rather than with the pedigreed Border Collie that trotted at the heels of Caradoc. Tracy was reminded, and did the rounds of the cats with her contraceptive spells. She'd been slack since she'd had Lillian, and there was a population boom among the cats. Several of the dogs on the place were also treated. No-one wanted to be over-run with dogs, either, useful though they were.

Simon and Beau spent a lot of their time practising on their horses, and training younger ones. They were paid by Harry, of course, but he didn't blink an eyelid. They were both devoted to his interests, they did a lot of work in their spare time, and besides, they were nearly family.

One of the workers' rooms was now their office, and they sometimes met reporters there. One of the reporters indicated Harry in his wheelchair once, saying to Simon, "You wouldn't get much work out of him, would you?" Simon went red, and changed the subject.

Connor's riding lessons had continued the whole time that the Potters had been away. Connor with 'Paint,' was beginning to have a collection of ribbons and trophies in the junior show jumping. It was known that he always arrived with the Barnes brothers, who were now strong contenders for selection for the Olympics.

Adrian had lost interest in competitive riding, as the Wiley girls had done before him. Adrian was a wizard. The day that he stunned the man who would have hurt his friend Thea, had left him with a considerable pride in himself, much more than the time when he'd disarmed the German aurors. That memory was mixed with the dreadful thing that had been done to his father afterward. He didn't like to think of that.

He liked to do what Connor did, though, and planned to take Benita to the gymkhana that was to be held shortly after they arrived home. Harry wasn't going. His wheelchair made him too conspicuous, and the Finch-Fletchleys seemed always to be at these events.

Harry was waiting on them when they returned, wishing he could have gone. But he'd been rash too many times already, at horse shows.

The two boys were laughing and chattering, and Simon and Beau were itching to discuss with him the performances of the novice horses they'd taken. Connor had a trophy to display, and was thrilled with himself. Adrian had a small yellow ribbon, but hadn't actually bothered entering many classes. Their ways were beginning to part, but this pair of friends would never lose touch.

**x**


	33. Chapter 33

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 33_

Jebedee, Franz and Barbara had their invitations. A Quidditch match at Harry's place, employees against the family. Klaus, Jason and Melissa, Naomi, Lyn, Astron, and, oddly enough, Caradoc, were to represent the employees. Harry's son, James, with assorted grandchildren, including Ginny, were to represent the family. There had been more than enough volunteers for the family, and there was some talk of forming three, or even four teams, and having monthly matches.

Regretfully, Harry had not invited the Maguires. While they'd tactfully ignored other indications of magic, witches and wizards whizzing around on broomsticks might be a bit much.

The grounds were dressed up, flags flying, and three pretty ponies were harnessed to small carriages, waiting to take passengers across the grounds to the Quidditch pitch. The ponies wore plumes, and the carriages had flags.

Harry was everywhere, riding Kildare, only once, for no apparent reason, toppling off to the side. Kildare hadn't even been moving at the time, just standing still, as Harry spoke to Simon, Beau, and Chris, in charge of the carriages. Tammy was generally close to Harry, and other dogs trotted around as well, keeping an alert watch on the activities.

Every single person on the estate would be at the match, even three of the five House Elves. Two traditionalists refused to leave their basement home and work area. House Elves, they thought, should not attend entertainments.

A few of the grandchildren were coming by car, but after that, the tall gates would be shut, and a sign left to say that there were to be no visitors that day. As soon as all those invited had arrived, for security, the apparation zone would be closed with an Anti-apparation Charm.

Will had his own job, and felt very important. He was to stay with the elders, Kevin and Sophey Wiley, old John's widow, Jesse, and Hermione. Each of the older ones had a carriage call for them, and they were conveyed to a place of honour where Harry had conjured especially comfortable chairs.

Margaret Brown, and Jimmy and Annie Carr were all about eighty, but all still active, and regarded themselves as workers, not elders.

Barbara, Jebedee and Franz arrived together, Franz very interested in looking around, as he'd not been there before. As well as the colourful carriages, Chrissy was using a car, to ferry people from the apparation zone to the Quidditch pitch.

Julie sat in a carriage waiting, smilingly, for Barbara to join her. Jebedee looked dubiously at the pretty, but small carriages, and even more dubiously at the car. He decided to walk, false leg or not. Three horses, and a dozen broomsticks also waited for passengers. Several of the grandchildren and great grandchildren chose broomsticks. The horses were ignored.

Cissy and Bridon arrived on their own horses, the ones that Harry had given them when they married. Kate arrived, beautiful and smiling, accompanied by three doting cousins. Ben and Hilde were very pleased to see Harry cantering around on his tall horse, apparently perfectly happy and healthy.

The House Elves had been supposed to be as much guests as anyone else. They couldn't do it. Instead they circulated with trays of refreshments. The ones left at home continued to fuss over preparations for lunch.

Jebedee, Barbara and Franz were watching Harry, trying not to be obvious about it. He stayed on his horse, apparently not at all handicapped. But when it was time for the game to begin, he slipped off his horse, and Will moved close.

Harry was talking to Kevin, who was to referee. And it was only when he turned to walk toward the chairs, halfway there, that he reeled to the side, quickly grabbed by Will. He showed neither upset or surprise, merely thanking Will as he was helped to a chair next to Hermione.

The game lasted two hours, with the family streaking ahead of the employees. But then Caradoc caught the snitch, ahead of an Abercrombie grandson, and the employees took the match.

Caradoc was the hero of the match, but too many people were surrounding him, congratulating him, and he hid in his house for the rest of the day.

Again the little carriages were called into service, the elders given first preference, and the company returned to the gardens near the house, where a lunch was being served. Will went with the elders, taking Jesse's arm as she tottered a little.

Harry was on his horse again. He found it easier to keep his balance when a horse moved under him, the more restlessly the better. Franz and Jebedee were with him, though Barbara had gone off with Julie. Harry waved his wand, Quidditch hoops disappeared, and a jumping course for horses reappeared. It could be done manually, but that took hours. The comfortable chairs stayed.

Romances were forged that summer day, as the young people strolled in the gardens. Harry smiled after Richard, James's son, as he slipped off with one of Gemme's grand-daughters.

Harry, Franz and Jebedee were still together, sitting in comfortable chairs, when Jebedee said, looking after another couple, as they whispered together, "Remember you told me once that there could be no more accidental children - that you were too careful.. ."

"Yes," said Harry, warily.

Jebedee said, looking at his fingers, "There's a strong rumour that Nicki and Skye Petersen's babies are yours."

Harry looked at him in dismay. "I hadn't heard they had babies. Are you sure?"

"Well, the girls say their boyfriends are the fathers. But they had to have been conceived in March, about the time of the Ministry Ball, and according to rumour, they didn't even have those boyfriends then."

Harry stared into the distance. His face was red. "I might have gone a bit mad in March," he admitted. "If that's what they wanted, they would probably have managed it." And then, decisively, "They've not been in contact, and if they say the boyfriends are the fathers, then so be it."

Jebedee said, "I just felt you should know, since everyone else seems to."

Jebedee and Franz thought that Harry should take an interest. Some of his children had shown unusual talents, Beth, especially, and Helmer Roos was an exceptionally powerful wizard, and had been quite a problem as a teenager.

Franz changed the subject, then, asking about Harry White.

Harry told them most of what he knew, admitting that he'd been wrong when he'd thought he'd killed him along with the Stanthorpe brothers.

Jebedee was able to tell Harry a few things, too. There'd been a lot more information come to light about White's activities in the year leading up to his death. It was a very good thing that his plans had died with him.

Harry said, smiling in his pleasure, "He had my wand. I think I told you. It's wonderful to have it back."

Franz asked him, "Wasn't there a time when you used to vanish the wands of wizards who attacked you?"

"I was raised in a muggle household. I didn't understand then, how important a person's wand becomes. I don't think I'd do it now, or not if they're only trying to kill me. I might if they're trying to lock me up."

Until the conversation, Harry had put White out of his mind. He'd done the best he could to repair the damage that had been done, and resolved not to neglect his duty the next time someone needed to be executed. Word had not spread that Harry White could have been a son of Harry Potter's.

He stood to get a bite more lunch, and fell over. He tried to get up, and could not. Ben brought his wheelchair, and helped him in.

Harry was matter-of-fact. "Sometimes, my balance just goes," he said to his companions, quite casually, "And then sometimes, I'm no good for hours. It's happening less and less, though."

**x**

Word spread that Harry Potter was back. Nicki and Skye conferred. They were living together in a small flat, although they were planning on marrying. Their little girls had black hair, and green eyes. The babies were very little trouble, as long as they were together. Two days after the Quidditch match, Harry was asked to discreetly call. The muggle address was supplied, as Harry was still thought to be unable to apparate.

Skye and Nicki thought it just possible that Harry might be a little annoyed with them. Everyone knew that witches only had children when they chose. But they were very friendly with another pair of twins, Toni and Terri Davenport, and they were given some very good advice.

Harry still regularly got into trouble with his balance, so when he arrived, he was prudently in a wheelchair. His expression was cold, inscrutable, as he made the wheelchair rise over the threshold.

The naughty girls looked at each other, and two babies were placed side by side in his lap. Harry's face creased into a smile of delight, as two seven month old babies gazed solemnly back into his face, and only said, "One at a time, please."

Nicki picked up a baby, and Harry made friends with Sonia, touching her cheek, and speaking in a tone of tenderness. Sonia was removed, and Catriona took her place. And this time, when Harry greeted the baby, he felt his greeting returned.

He gaped, and again sent that mental greeting, but this time there was only a baby desire to grab his glasses.

"We're sorry," said Skye, and glanced at Nicki, "At least, we're not really sorry. How could we regret it?"

Catriona was still on Harry's knee, being tickled, and giggling.

"I suppose you want child support," said Harry, still with his attention on the baby. He named a generous figure. "Will that do?"

Nicki said hurriedly, "Just for a while, and we'll pay it back."

"Can I visit sometimes?" asked Harry.

The twins looked at each other.

Harry raised his eyes. "It's all right - I'll stay away if you prefer. I'm told you're saying that the boyfriends are the fathers."

"Jason and William Riley," said one, and the other added, "They're brothers."

Harry frowned, "William Riley - he sounds familiar."

"I don't think you'd know him," said Skye hastily, and Harry immediately remembered his last meeting with William Riley, but only said, "I probably taught him at some stage."

Skye smiled at him, "You were a _great_ teacher."

Harry smiled back, having totally forgotten that he'd meant to be angry. "I'm going back to Hogwarts soon - hopefully not too many parents will pull out their children."

Skye reassured him, "We've only heard of three so far..."

Harry laughed, "Well, as long as I don't get sacked again, and maybe the three will change their minds - there's no better school."

Harry lifted Catriona from his knee, and asked if he could just say good-bye to Sonia. The other baby was placed in his lap. He looked from her to Catriona. "They look like twins, themselves."

"Born about three minutes apart," said Skye, proudly.

Sonia lifted her hand to his glasses, and he said gently, "No, you can't have my glasses." The baby stopped reaching.

Harry looked back at the mothers of the little girls. "Skye, Nicki," he said, hesitating.

"Yes?" Skye prompted.

Harry looked back at the babies. "Some of my children have been unusual. If you have problems with them, would you please come to me for help, or if I'm not available, some of my family? Beth, for instance."

"Why would we have trouble? They're beautiful!" said Nicki, and her sister nodded.

"Just remember," said Harry, and turned his chair to leave, again skating just above the threshold as he left, and then disapparating, with wheelchair, into his own home.

He left the wheelchair, then, and walked quite easily to his swimming pool. Afterward, though, he found he could not get up, and wound up being helped by Simon and Beau, who'd luckily been swimming, too. He could have crawled, but he hated that, especially when the Wiley girls were watching as well. It seemed like he was not going to be able to walk again that day, so he shrugged and used the wheelchair. It was getting better and better all the time.

He took the opportunity of Simon being out of the way to arrange the Child Support payments with Margaret. Margaret said nothing. She'd been expecting it. The rumours were wide-spread.

"Strictly confidential, of course," Harry said. "They don't want to admit to it."

Margaret said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Simon will have to know about it," and watched in pleasure as Harry blushed.

Simon was only twenty-three. Harry felt it more embarrassing for Simon to know about it than for Margaret to know about it. He shrugged, pretending to be unmoved, "I suppose it's unavoidable." But his face was still red.

Julie was very happy to be home. She and Harry went to several private gatherings, including one to the Hibbards. Julie's mother was fine, now, although she had spent a long time deciding who to invite, and whether it was a good thing or a bad thing to be connected to Harry Potter. So far, there had been little unpleasantness.

Harry suspected that his status as a cripple in a wheelchair was helping, although he still hoped to have discarded it by the time he started teaching.

That time was coming closer, and Caradoc thought he'd best not delay if he wanted Harry to go to Diagon Alley with him. Harry had scarcely needed the wheelchair for two days. He'd fallen a few times, but each time had been able straight away to get up again. But it was prudent to use the wheelchair, still, as well as good public relations.

Caradoc apparated to the customary apparating zone in Diagon Alley, followed immediately after by Harry. He'd warned Caradoc that he was unsure of his reception once recognised, but Caradoc looked unusually haughty, stated that he was an auror, and could deal with any problems.

Harry looked around him as they got to Ollivanders. Last time he'd been here, there'd been bits of Dementor scattered around him, bits of the Privileged One, that had just lost all privileges. Already there were people looking, people pointing. But they didn't seem especially hostile, and Harry ignored them.

It made Caradoc feel uncomfortable at first, and then annoyed, wanting to protect his friend. Harry had looked after Caradoc, as much by taking him from a hospital ward, and providing him with a home, as he had by pulling him from the pumpkin-head. Now Caradoc was feeling a desire to look after Harry. His training and instincts as an auror made a resurgence.

Harry noticed his alert stance, and recognised the same sort of attitude on his part that he was so accustomed to in the bodyguards that surrounded him so often.

Young Madam Ollivander looked at Harry as he entered, and said sternly, "I hope you're not going to mess up my shop again, Mr. Potter!"

Harry grinned at her scowl. "I'll try not to," and introduced Caradoc Dearborn.

Madam Ollivander grunted, and looked at the young/old man assessingly. For five minutes, she stared at him, then vanished into the recesses of a back room. Instead of a new wand, lying snug in a new wandbox, she brought back bundles of wands, loose in her hands.

"Sometimes, enemies keep the wands of a defeated opponent," she said, in a teaching voice, "Especially if they deem that opponent to have fought especially valiantly."

She spread out sixty or so wands on her counter. "Sometimes, collections of wands are returned to us." And she looked piercingly at Caradoc.

"Feel for your own wand. Your own wand is always best."

Caradoc didn't hesitate. He put his hand on a wand third from one end, and examined it, wonderingly, finally saying, emotion in his voice. "It is my own wand."

Madam Ollivander ignored the almost tears, and said, in almost a snap, "Six galleons, fee for storage and handling."

Caradoc didn't hear, his attention removed from his immediate surroundings. He still stroked his wand. Harry grinned, and gave Madam Ollivander the required sum.

He thought they'd finished then, but Madam Ollivander said, "What about you, Mr. Potter? Is your wand still lost?"

Harry smiled, "I have my wand back, now."

"I would like to do an inspection," Madam Ollivander stated, imperiously.

Outside the shop, Leonard glanced in, and then he and Fred took guard outside. Harry was aware of them both, although Fred hadn't been in his sight.

"An inspection?" Harry queried.

"I would like to inspect your wand!" stated Madam Ollivander, slightly impatiently.

Harry shrugged, and handed her his wand. Madam Ollivander rebuked him for not keeping it cleaner, herself carefully polished it, and then placed it on a pair of scales. She looked narrowly at a reading on a gauge, noted down a figure, and then handed it back, making no explanation at all.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, and she stared back at him, unflinching. Harry suddenly laughed and turned to Caradoc, "Ready?"

Madam Ollivander could keep her secrets if she liked. He wasn't prying.

Only after they left, did Madam Ollivander tap a point on the scales that had weighed the wand. Ollivanders had kept records of exceptional matches between wizard and wand, for several hundred years. This particular record would take its place among the names of powerful witches and wizards that had resounded through the ages.

Fred and Leonard were close by as they came out of the shop. Two other aurors were close, too, these ones pretending not be aurors, not wearing the badge or the uniform cape. Harry recognised one as Lance Gilbert, but had never been introduced to the other, who was much younger, probably freshly qualified.

Fred came to them, but still keeping an alert watch on the crowd. "Jebedee says for you and your companion to go see him when you're finished, if you want."

Harry thanked him, and introduced Caradoc Dearborn. Fred forgot his alert stance for a moment, as he looked at Caradoc with intense interest. All the aurors knew who he was, and Fred had been present when the pumpkin-head melted back into a man.

Caradoc greeted him with normal courtesy, but suggested there was suspicious movement behind a couple of witches not far away. Harry, too, looked in that direction, but nothing happened.

Caradoc still kept an eye on those around, but, as Harry thought, most of them only seemed curious. A few even nodded and waved, and Harry raised his hand in greeting as well, though they were not approached.

"I would like to go to the bookshop, next," Caradoc said, "And then I'd quite like to go see Jebedee. It'll be interesting to see how much has changed."

Aurors watched as they proceeded down the alley. The crowd didn't get bigger, instead, after a while, it started to diminish.

Flourish and Blotts was too crowded for Harry to attempt to enter with his wheelchair, so he spun it, back to the wall outside, and waited for Caradoc. Fred leaned against the wall beside him, in a casual pose that would have had Franz snapping at him to look alert.

A grand-daughter of Harry's, with a son, stopped and said hello. Harry grinned at his great grandson.

"You start at Hogwarts this year, don't you?"

The boy grinned back. "Yes, Grandfather Harry." he said.

Harry introduced Tom and Wilhelmina to Fred beside him.

"Are you an auror?" asked the child, hero-worship in his voice.

Fred was tickled pink. He stood beside the great wizard, and this boy took Harry Potter for granted, and admired Fred.

Wilhelmina watched her son in amusement, and said that she'd just be inside, and pulled a booklist from her pocket. Caradoc was taking his time, ignoring the crowded conditions, and the people all around. So Harry sat in the sun, and listened as Tom queried Fred about auror training.

More people came to chat. Harry was beginning to enjoy himself. No-one was hissing, and although there was some hostility, and some drawing away, as if in fear, overall, it wasn't too bad at all.

Caradoc and Wilhelmina came out, each with a bundle of books in hand. Harry glanced at them. "Do you want me to send the books home for you?"

"Oh, yes," said Wilhelmina. "I thought of asking them to be delivered, but they're so busy."

Harry drew his wand, there was a collective gasp from the people watching, who all seemed to be retreating. Harry gave them a shadowed look, as he tapped his wand, first to Caradoc's package, and then to Wilhelmina's.

"That's a handy spell," said Caradoc. "Will you teach me?"

"Risky," said Harry. "I've been abused a few times because of people losing their luggage."

Fred grinned. Patrick had lost his luggage once. Fred himself had prudently not tried it.

"The Ministry?" Caradoc suggested.

Harry nodded. "Apparating into the atrium? As far as I know, it's pretty much the same as it's been for a hundred years or more."

Caradoc nodded, and Fred whistled over Leonard, who was watching from a greater distance.

"What about Lance and Jeremy?" asked Harry.

Fred rebuked him. "You're not supposed to notice Lance, and you're not supposed to even know Jeremy." Harry said sorry.

Appearing in the atrium, there was the immediate stir that Harry's appearance always provoked. Again, people were pointing and staring, some backing away, some coming closer to stare. Harry ignored them. Fred and Leonard were both close, reducing the likelihood of attack.

Caradoc looked around curiously, going to inspect the gold statue prominent in the centre. "I've always loathed that, flashy and sickening."

Harry said, "It was destroyed once - shame they fixed it."

"What happened?" asked Fred.

"Voldemort and Dumbledore had a duel here - neither was hurt, but there was mess everywhere."

"Voldemort and Dumbledore? I would have liked to see that!" said Caradoc.

"It was pretty spectacular," agreed Harry.

"Any laughing kookaburras?" asked Leonard, who'd heard the story.

Harry grinned, a bit embarrassed, "Is that story still going around?"

"You'd be surprised at the stories that get told about the great wizard!"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think I want to know."

Jebedee arrived to greet them then, followed by Barbara, who leaned over and gave him a kiss. Harry smiled at her. "I'll have discarded the chair by the next time you see me."

"You do look better on a horse," said Barbara.

Word was spreading. Alex poked his head in Catherine's office, to the annoyance of Simon, who was being checked over after an injury. The frown cleared at his news, though. "Harry's here."

"I haven't seen him for ages," said Catherine, as she quickly noted down some readings. Simon assumed she was finished, and dressed, and Catherine decided she didn't really needed to know his weight, he looked fine, and they both hurried out to say hello to their friend.

Shortly after, both Harry and Caradoc were in the aurors' department, Harry surrounded by friends, laughing and chattering about their girlfriends, about Quidditch, about dolphins and surfing.

Jebedee and Caradoc were sitting together on someone's desk, talking about Kingsley, Jebedee's father, whom Caradoc had trained with.

"How many aurors do you have now?" Caradoc asked Jebedee at one stage. And when Jebedee gave the numbers, he commented, "We used to have twice as many when Voldemort was active - and needed more."

Jebedee said, "Father's opinion was that the mere presence of such a powerful wizard as Harry, ensures that aspiring Dark Wizards either behave themselves, or go somewhere else." They were both looking at the great wizard, who'd exchanged his wheelchair for a seat on top of someone's desk.

"He's probably right," said Caradoc in a dispassionate voice. "It's quite amazing what he can do."

Ginny and Sarah came in then, greeting Harry, who casually stood and gave them each a hug.

"The wheelchair just a public relations exercise then?" asked Ginny.

"No, unfortunately," said Harry. "I'm still unreliable, broke my arm just the other day with a sudden fall."

"What about Fridays, cleaning up Cissy's failures," asked Sarah, getting straight to business. But Harry declined, saying only after he no longer needed a wheelchair. "Except for pumpkin-heads of course, I'll always try to come for those."

Abruptly, Caradoc had had enough of chattering crowds, and said quite softly, "Harry?"

Harry immediately rose, sat back in his chair, and said that he'd see them all again, and headed toward the door.

Caradoc, with a sigh of relief, close at his heels. Caradoc was walking very fast, quickly overtaking Harry, wanting to get away. Harry made his chair go faster. Their departure had been abrupt. The atrium was crowded.

Caradoc paused, briefly, daunted, then the crack of his disapparation was heard. It was really only courtesy that took wizards and witches to a particular point for apparations and disapparations, and Harry was still manoeuvring the wheelchair around people who were trying to back away, but the crowd had become very thick. They'd been waiting for his reappearance, but no-one actually wanted to be too close.

A blast of music sounded, music that long ago Harry had been conditioned to connect with torture. The jolt of alarm tore through him, he rose from his chair, taking two steps, before falling, quite helpless to walk further, or even stand. He knew that it was only music now, but his body still shook.

The crowd stood back, staring at him, as he tried to stand and could not.

Harry lost his temper, "Get away from me! Stop bloody staring!"

He grabbed his wheelchair, and tried to get back in, but falling again.

Still his audience watched. "Stop bloody staring!" he said again, even more loudly, and he glared around at them.

It wasn't the dangerous fury of a great wizard, it was the pettish anger of a cripple who doesn't like being a cripple.

By the time Alex thrust through the massed crowd, and arrived at his side, Harry's undignified tantrum had again made him human in the eyes of wizards and witches who'd been seeing him as a monster. He may not have liked it, but it did wonders for his image.

He was still glowering as he arrived back inside his home. He tried to rise, and walk, thinking that a swim would calm him, but his balance was gone. He felt another surge of sheer frustration. It was like a switch clicked over in his mind. Suddenly confident, he rose from his chair, perfectly easily - standing, walking, standing, testing. He paced slowly to and fro. He no longer had to pretend he was thirty, or work artificially to somehow forget that he couldn't walk. Now he could walk, and knew that the wheelchair would no longer be needed.

Perfectly happy now, he strolled outside in the gentle afternoon sunshine, to watch Connor and Adrian trotting around a paddock, as Jimmy roared at them to keep their heels down and their backs straight.

He reassured himself that Caradoc was safe home, and then walked to a horse paddock, fussing over the four mares and the four foals that were there. Kintyre, who'd been led astray by Mischief, had supposed to have been showing potential as a show jumper. Beau and Simon had not been pleased when she found a stallion instead. And her foal didn't look like much of a proposition for jumping.

Neither Mischief nor Kintyre had been mated, and Harry hoped that he'd soon have Mischief to ride again. Kildare was great, but Mischief was special. Her foal butted against her flank, wanting a drink. Killarney and Kyneton, the other mares with foals, were both still quite young, and had been mated with a stallion chosen by Beau and Simon. Harry fussed over them. He loved them all.

There was time before dinner, and he took Kildare and raced across the moors, thrilled with his speed, pleased with his life. He no longer feared that his balance would be abruptly gone. That episode was over with. He no longer feared that the Dementors would come back. If they did, somehow or other, they'd be dealt with.

His mind went to potential problems with those two baby girls he'd accidentally sired, who might be Telepaths. But he was optimistic. They were the most beautiful babies in the world, perfectly obviously. How could anyone not love them? And he flattened himself further on the back of 'the mad black,' and he laughed as he galloped.

**x**

It was the start of the school year, and Professor Potter had taken his place at the head table with the other professors. The Sorting Ceremony began.

"Abercrombie, David", and the Sorting Hat thought for a few minutes before loudly pronouncing, "Gryffindor," and a small sandy-haired boy went to the Gryffindor table. David was the grand-son of Sean Abercrombie, Euan's son, who had married Margaret Potter.

"Broadfoot, Daniel." This was the son of Simon, the auror. Daniel was sent to Hufflepuff. Harry's wife, Julie, had been in Hufflepuff. It was the best house, she said, without the conceit of Ravenclaws, the sneakiness of Slytherins, or the foolishness that Gryffindors were apt to indulge in. And now Daniel gave Harry a grin, as he watched him take his seat. Daniel wasn't frightened of the great wizard. In his trunk was packed a very brightly coloured shirt that Harry had conjured for him. He'd asked how long it was likely to last, as clothing seldom lasted even a few hours. 'No idea,' Harry had said.

"Davenport, Tom," and another great grand-son of Harry's was sent to the Gryffindor table, this time a redhead.

Harry Potter thought with humour, that not only had he outlived his most persistent enemies, his descendants had become so numerous now that his clan was out-breeding most of the newer lot of enemies - with a lot of help from his daughter, Margaret, and her nine children. He had three great grand-children starting at Hogwarts this year, as well as his own son, Adrian. It was more usual than not, in wizarding circles, for couples to have only one child, the reason why wizard numbers had been declining for generations.

The world of wizarding was a close-knit one, and as virtually all of Britain's witches and wizards came to Hogwarts, Harry knew almost all the families of his world. The same surnames cropped up again and again. But there was still an occasional muggle-born to introduce some new blood.

"Everett, Julia," the one and only muggle-born that year.

"Gryffindor," and the girl put on a haughty expression to conceal her trepidation, and walked apparently perfectly calmly to the Gryffindor table, and sat next to Tom. Harry was pleased to see Tom make a quiet comment to her that had her flashing a smile at him. It could be difficult for muggle-borns, especially as there were so few of them now.

"Finch-Fletchley, Katherine," and "Finch-Fletchley, Margaret," went to Hufflepuff. Harry thought they were probably cousins.

"Goyle, Jeremy," and a large boy was sorted into Slytherin, followed by "Graham, Millicent," also into Slytherin.

The Sorting Hat continued its progression through the alphabet, and the line of first years diminished as each in turn hurried with an air of relief to their allotted house tables.

"Malfoy, Lucius." The tall, pale blonde boy looked icily composed, as the Sorting Hat announced even before it touched his head, "Slytherin." Strange to think he was Adrian's cousin.

"Potter, Adrian," and there was a buzz of comment from the students, and all eyes were on the son of the great wizard. Adrian looked coolly expressionless also, as the Sorting Hat announced without hesitation, "Gryffindor."

Lucius and Adrian were already enemies. They'd met for the first time at King's Cross, and had bristled with hatred at first sight. Eighty years ago, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had also been instant enemies, although they'd become friendly enough since.

The roll continued.

"Scott, Therese," another great grand-child of Harry's was sorted into Ravenclaw. Harry was surprised. Every single one of his redheaded descendants had been a Gryffindor until this one. He supposed it wasn't law, and the Sorting Hat always knew.

"Shacklebolt, Kingsley," was sorted into Ravenclaw.

Harry knew this boy to be Jebedee's grandson, named after Jebedee's father. He was a little disappointed. It would have been nice to have another big, shining black Shacklebolt growing up, but the boy was brown, and small.

And then there was "Shunpike, Sylvia," sorted into Hufflepuff. This was the younger sister of Sybil, who worked under Tracy, and who'd dropped a tray of muffins all over him the previous day, then wailed in dismay and ran off to the kitchen. No matter what he did, Sybil could not seem to accept that he was just an ordinary person, and no-one to be frightened of.

"Williamson, Theodore," was sorted into Ravenclaw.

That was the last, and the tables were suddenly laden with good things to eat, as the Start of Year Feast commenced.

Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, where he felt he belonged. There was no wheelchair close, not even a cane. He didn't eat yet, as a fit of trembling shook him. He just waited, unperturbed. He trembled often enough anyway, there was no way any-one could tell that this particular attack was related to his emotion.

After the feast, the new students were led off to their dormitories. Daniel Broadfoot showed his Hufflepuff room-mates a bright shirt made by the great wizard. This was something he'd been dwelling on since Harry had conjured it for him over a year ago. He was so pleased it had lasted so long.

Lucius Malfoy, in Slytherin, coolly assumed the role of leader, and Jeremy Goyle became a devoted slave.

In Ravenclaw, the girls discussed the great wizard. One said that obviously the talk of him being a cripple was a sham.

"He's my grandfather," said Therese. "We were at his place not long ago. I saw him fall twice, and then he couldn't walk at all, and used his wheelchair for the rest of the day. I'm very glad he's over it now, but it was not a sham."

The other girls looked at her with great respect, and interrogated her for the next hour before lights out. Therese gave no hints of the whereabouts of Harry's hidden home, but four girls gained a very different idea of the awe-inspiring figure.

In the Gryffindor first year dormitory, Adrian was being quizzed by the two other Gryffindors who were not related.

"Is the great wizard really your dad?" And one said, "My mum said he was a monster, and shouldn't be allowed."

David Abercrombie said calmly, "Well, as Tom, Adrian and I are all related to him, I don't think you should repeat that opinion."

The dark boy said, "No. Right," and turned his attention to unpacking.

In the girls' dormitory, Julia Everett asked, "Who's Harry Potter?"

_The End._

**x****x**


	34. Chapter 34

_Postscript:_

WHAT HAPPENED TO?

Kintyre's brown foal, sired by the Percheron.

The mare was a favourite ride of Beth's for a while, not being too tall, but strong. Mated with a Thoroughbred, she produced the best showjumper of them all, winning a Gold at the Olympics, ridden by Connor Maguire.

Beau Barnes:

Forgot about marrying a Wiley girl, possibly Diane, instead falling in love with a blonde bimbo, who divorced him three years later.

Simon Barnes:

Married Naomi Wiley, both of them working for Harry as planned.

Sandra Darke:

Left employment at Ministry after losing her job as head of Department for International Cooperation. Tended to complain frequently that it wasn't fair. Greatly consoled when she was presented with a set of films purchased from a souvenir shop in Hogsmeade.

Ben McKenzie:

The California Beach friend. Watching Harry struggle to overcome a handicap produced by brain damage had a big effect on Ben. He was always fun-loving, but trained as a doctor, and specialised in rehabilitation.

Thea:

Married Adrian Potter.

Caradoc Dearborn:

Once removed from status of pumpkin-head, he began to age normally. Published books of philosophy. Started to ride on moors every day, mostly using Kelly or Jack. One day, he met a woman who was painting a landscape. She was very vague, and had forgotten his name the next day. It took five years, but they married, and she joined him in his little house on Harry's property. She painted the horses, the gardens, and then she painted Harry. Julie finally had a picture of her husband that didn't blush, look away, or hide behind the frame. Clare was so unusual, that when she vaguely talked about witches flying on broomsticks, no-one took the slightest notice.

Sonia and Catriona Riley: the twins' babies.

Emigrated with both sets of parents, to New Zealand.

Percival Weasley: (Book 6)

Left Britain after resigning as Minister for Magic. Peevish old age, but wife put up with him anyway.

Andrew Pritchard: (Book 6)

Andrew Pritchard, after his last encounter with Harry, left England forever, as instructed, took up residence in Turkey, married a rich widow fifteen years older than himself, lived a life of luxury, and died happy in bed at the age of eighty-one, with a young prostitute beside him.

Harry Potter:

Died at the age of two hundred and ninety-three in the arms of an aged wife, moments after she died. He had suddenly decided he never wanted to be widowed again. With him died another awareness. Neither Harry, nor even Beth, was ever aware that his old enemy retained some life in his own head. Voldemort had shared many of his experiences, although many others were screened from him. In at least one instance, he was able to take action to protect his host.

Due to old magic, Voldemort could only die if he chose. After living with Harry for many years, the Dark Wizard, Lord Voldemort, began to change, becoming more the man he might have been if he'd stayed Tom Riddle. When Harry Potter died, so did Tom Riddle.

If the supporters of Voldemort had succeeded in killing Harry Potter, as they tried so determinedly to do for many years, Lord Voldemort would have been freed. If Harry had tried to meddle with the scar tissue that sealed away Voldemort in his brain, it could have been disastrous for him.


End file.
